Newton and the others were also interrogated, the names taken down, and the parties then quitted the prison.

“Now, if we make a push for it, I think we may get off,” said Collins to Newton and the rest, after the door had closed.  “I never saw the prison in England which could hold me when I felt inclined to walk out of it; and as for their bars, I reckon them at about an hour’s work.  I never travel without my little friends;”—­and Collins, taking off his old hat, removed the lining, and produced a variety of small saws made from watch-springs, files, and other instruments.  “Then,” continued he, “with these, and this piece of tallow stuck outside my hat, I will be through those bars in no time.  French iron ar’n’t worth a d—­n, and the sentry sha’n’t hear me if he lolls against them; although it may be just as well if Thompson tips us a stave, as then we may work the faster.”

“I say, Bill,” observed Hillson, “who is your friend?”

“I don’t know—­he may be the governor; but this I do know, for the honour of freemasonry, we may trust him and all like him; so just mind your own business, Tom.”

“He said he would be here at dark,” observed Newton.

“Yes,—­I must prepare—­go to the grating, some of you, that they may not look in upon me.”

This unexpected prospect of deliverance created an anxious joy in the breasts of the prisoners; the day appeared interminable.  At last, the shades of night set in, and a clouded sky with mizzling rain raised their hopes.  The square in front of the prison was deserted, and the sentinel crouched close against the door, which partially protected him from the weather.  In a few minutes a person was heard in conversation with the sentinel.  “He must be coming now,” observed Collins in a low tone; “that must be one of his assistants who is taking off the attention of the gens d’arme.”

“Make no noise,” said a voice in a whisper, at the outside of the bars.

“I am here,” replied Collins, softly.

“How can you get out of the prison?”

“Get the sentry out of the way when we leave off singing; the bars will then be removed.”

“Everything is prepared outside.  When you get out, keep close under the wall to the right.  I shall be at the corner, if I am not here.”

The freemason then retired from the grating.

“Now, Thompson, not too loud, there’s no occasion for it; two of us can work.”

Thompson commenced his song; Newton took a small saw from Collins, who directed him how to use it.  The iron bars of the prison yielded like wood to the fine-tempered instruments which Collins employed.  In an hour and a half three of the bars were removed without noise, and the aperture was wide enough for their escape.  The singing of Thompson, whose voice was tolerably good, and ear very correct, had not only the effect of preventing their working being heard, but amused the sentinel, who remained with his back to the wall listening to the melody.