“That’s it,” he said to himself.  “The handcuffs, the lockup, the cell!  Good Lord, what luck—­and what nonsense!  And Marie Fauville, who’s sure to do away with herself.  And Florence—­Florence—­”

Before extinguishing his lantern, he cast its light around him for the last time.

At a couple of yards’ distance from the ladder, about three quarters of the way up and set a little way back, there was a big stone missing from the inner wall, leaving a space just large enough to crouch in.

Although the recess did not form much of a hiding-place, it was just possible that they might omit to inspect it.  Besides, Don Luis had no choice.  At all events, after putting out the light, he leaned toward the edge of the hole, reached it, and managed to scramble in by bending himself in two.

Weber, Mazeroux, and their men were coming along.  Don Luis propped himself against the back of his hiding-hole to avoid as far as possible the glare of the lanterns, of which he was beginning to see the gleams.  And an amazing thing happened:  the stone against which he was pushing toppled over slowly, as though moving on a pivot, and he fell backward into a second cavity situated behind it.

He quickly drew his legs after him and the stone swung back as slowly as before, not, however, without sending down a quantity of small stones, crumbling from the wall and half covering his legs.

“Well, well!” he chuckled.  “Can Providence be siding with virtue and righteousness?”

He heard Mazeroux’s voice saying: 

“Nobody!  And here’s the end of the passage.  Unless he ran away as we came—­look, through the trapdoor at the top of this ladder.”

Weber replied: 

“Considering the slope by which we’ve come, it’s certain that the trapdoor is on a level with the second floor.  Well, the other little cross ought to mark the boudoir on the second floor, next to Don Luis’s bedroom.  That’s what I supposed, and why I posted three of our men there.  If he’s tried to get out on that side, he’s caught.”

“We’ve only got to knock,” said Mazeroux.  “Our men will find the trapdoor and let us out.  If not, we will break it down.”

More blows echoed down the passage.  Fifteen or twenty minutes after, the trapdoor gave way, and other voices now mingled with Weber’s and Mazeroux’s.

During this time, Don Luis examined his domain and perceived how extremely small it was.  The most that he could do was to sit in it.  It was a gallery, or, rather, a sort of gut, a yard and a half long and ending in an orifice, narrower still, heaped up with bricks.  The walls, besides, were formed of bricks, some of which were lacking; and the building-stones which these should have kept in place crumbled at the least touch.  The ground was strewn with them.

“By Jove!” thought Lupin, “I must not wriggle about too much, or I shall risk being buried alive!  A pleasant prospect!”