"Come, monsieur, we must be off," said Cauvignac. Claire did not stir. Canolles, undecided as to the course he should pursue, seemed near going mad. The catastrophe was so overpowering and unexpected that he bent beneath its weight; he bowed his head and resigned himself. Moreover, at that period the words "In the king's name!" had not lost their magic effect, and no one dared resist them. "Where are you taking me, monsieur?" he said. "Are you forbidden to afford me the poor consolation of knowing where I am going?" "No, monsieur, I will tell you. We are to escort you to Île-Saint Georges." "Adieu, madame," said Canolles, bowing respectfully to Madame de Cambes; "adieu!" "Well, well," said Cauvignac to himself, "things aren't so far advanced as I thought. I will tell Nanon; it will please her immensely." "Four men to escort the captain!" he cried, stepping to the door. "Forward, four men!" "And where am I to be taken?" cried Madame de Cambes, holding out her arms toward the prisoner. "If the baron is guilty, I am still more guilty than he." "You, madame," replied Cauvignac, "are free, and may go where you choose." And he left the room with the baron. Madame de Cambes rose, with a gleam of hope, and prepared to leave the inn at once, before contrary orders should be issued. "Free!" said she. "In that case I can watch over him; I will go at once." Darting to the window, she was in time to see Canolles in the midst of his escort, and to exchange a farewell wave of the hand with him. Then she called Pompée, who, hoping for a halt of two or three days, had established himself in the best room he could find, and bade him make ready for immediate departure. VIII. It was an even more melancholy journey for Canolles than he had anticipated. The most carefully guarded prisoner has a false feeling of freedom in the saddle, but the saddle was soon succeeded by a carriage, a leathern affair, the shape of which and its capacity for jolting are still retained in Touraine. Furthermore, Canolles' knees were interlocked with those of a man with the beak of an eagle, whose hand rested lovingly on the butt of a pistol. Sometimes, at night, for he slept during the day, he hoped to be able to elude the vigilance of this new Argus; but beside the eagle's beak were two great owl's-eyes, round, flaming, and most excellently adapted for nocturnal observations, so that, turn which way he would, Canolles would always see those two round eyes gleaming in that direction. While he slept, one of the two eyes also slept, but only one. Nature had endowed this man with the faculty of sleeping with one eye open. Two days and two nights Canolles passed in gloomy reflections; for the fortress of Île Saint-Georges--an inoffensive fortress enough, by the way--assumed terrifying proportions in the prisoner's eyes, as fear and remorse sank more deeply into his heart.