"Did I not tell you," he said to Canolles, "did I not tell you, my dear fellow, that that was where they would attack me? If I should tell you," he added, turning to the jailer, "that I am Madame Nanon de Lartigues' brother, what would you say to me, my friend?" "I should tell you to follow me instantly." "Damnation!" ejaculated Cauvignac. "But she has also called me her brother," said Canolles, trying in some degree to avert the storm that was evidently gathering over the head of his unfortunate companion. "One moment, one moment," said Cauvignac, passing in front of the jailer, and taking Canolles aside; "one moment, my young friend; it isn't fair that you should be Nanon's brother under such circumstances. I have made others pay my debts enough, and it's no more than fair that I should take my turn at paying them." "What do you mean?" demanded Canolles. "Oh! it would take too long to tell you, and you see our jailer is losing patience, and tapping his foot on the floor. It's all right, my friend, all right; never fear, I will go with you. Adieu, my dear fellow; my doubts are set at rest on one point at least, for I know that I am to go first. God grant that you do not follow me too quickly. Now it remains to know what sort of death it is to be. The devil! if only it isn't hanging! Oh! I am coming, _pardieu!_ I am coming. You 're in a terrible hurry, my good man. Well then, my dear brother, my dear brother-in-law, my dear friend,--a last adieu, and good-night!" With that Cauvignac stepped toward Canolles and held out his hand, which Canolles grasped in both of his own and pressed affectionately. Meanwhile Cauvignac was looking at him with a strange expression. "What do you want?" said Canolles; "have you any request to make?" "Yes." "Then make it boldly." "Do you sometimes pray? "Yes." "Well, then, when you pray, say a word for me." He turned to the jailer, whose impatience was visibly increasing. "I am Madame Nanon de Lartigues' brother," said he; "come, my friend--" The jailer did not wait for him to say it a second time, but hastily left the room, followed by Cauvignac, who waved a last farewell to Canolles from the threshold. The door closed behind them, their steps receded rapidly, and everything relapsed into absolute silence, which seemed to him who was left behind like the silence of death. Canolles fell into a melancholy frame of mind, which resembled terror. This fashion of spiriting a man away by night, without commotion, without guards, was more alarming than the preparations for the infliction of the death penalty when made in broad daylight. All his fear, however, was on his companion's behalf, for his confidence in Madame de Cambes was so great that since he had seen her he was absolutely without fear for himself, notwithstanding the alarming nature of the news she brought.