Not a sound!  Either the sentry was asleep, or he had gone on his round, and for a few moments the way was free.  Without a moment’s hesitation I swung my leg over the sill.

Still no sound.  My heart beat so fast that I could almost hear it.  The night was very dark.  A thin mist-like drizzle was falling; in fact the weather conditions were absolutely perfect for my purpose.  With utmost wariness I allowed myself to drop from the window-ledge on to the soft ground below.

If I was caught by the sentry I had my answer ready:  I was going to meet my sweetheart at the end of the garden.  It is an excuse which always meets with the sympathy of every true-hearted Frenchman.  The sentry would, of course, order me back to my room, but I doubt if he would ill-use me; the denunciation was against the landlord, not against me.

Still not a sound.  I could have danced with joy.  Five minutes more and I would be across the garden and over that wooden fence, and once more on my way to fortune.  My fall from the window had been light, as my room was on the ground floor; but I had fallen on my knees, and now, as I picked myself up, I looked up, and it seemed to me as if I saw Theodore’s ugly face at his attic window.  Certainly there was a light there, and I may have been mistaken as to Theodore’s face being visible.  The very next second the light was extinguished and I was left in doubt.

But I did not pause to think.  In a moment I was across the garden, my hands gripped the top of the wooden fence, I hoisted myself up—­with some difficulty, I confess—­but at last I succeeded.  I threw my leg over and gently dropped down on the other side.

Then suddenly two rough arms encircled my waist, and before I could attempt to free myself a cloth was thrown over my head, and I was lifted up and carried away, half suffocated and like an insentient bundle.

When the cloth was removed from my face I was half sitting, half lying, in an arm-chair in a strange room which was lighted by an oil lamp that hung from the ceiling above.  In front of me stood M. Arthur Geoffroy and that beast Theodore.

M. Arthur Geoffroy was coolly folding up the two valuable papers for the possession of which I had risked a convict ship and New Caledonia, and which would have meant affluence for me for many days to come.

It was Theodore who had removed the cloth from my face.  As soon as I had recovered my breath I made a rush for him, for I wanted to strangle him.  But M. Arthur Geoffroy was too quick and too strong for me.  He pushed me back into the chair.

“Easy, easy, M. Ratichon,” he said pleasantly; “do not vent your wrath upon this good fellow.  Believe me, though his actions may have deprived you of a few thousand francs, they have also saved you from lasting and biting remorse.  This document, which you stole from M. de Marsan and so ingeniously duplicated, involved the honour of our King and our country, as well as the life of an innocent man.  My sister’s fiance would never have survived the loss of the document which had been entrusted to his honour.”