The carpenter had watched the change in the Baron’s countenance as he read the letter.  He was persuaded that he could turn the capital importance of his revelations into profit for himself; he believed that the time had come when he might gain advantage by showing that he understood perfectly well the value of the secret he had just imparted.  So he replied with a glance of intelligence: 

“Monsieur’s handwriting must have changed greatly, then; I have some of his orders which do not resemble this any more than a glass of water does a glass of wine.”

Christian tried to find a response but failed.  His eyebrows contracted in a manner that betokened a coming storm, but Lambernier was not disturbed by this symptom; he continued in a more and more assured voice: 

“When I said that this letter was worth ten louis, I meant that it was worth that much to a mere stranger, and I am very sure I should not have to go very far to find one; but Monsieur le Baron is too sensible not to know the value of this secret.  I do not wish to set a price upon it, but since I am obliged to go away on account of this coachman, and have no money—­”

He did not have time to finish; Bergenheim seized him in the middle of the body and made him describe a horizontal half-circle without touching the ground, then threw him upon his knees on the edge of the path which descended almost perpendicularly alongside the rocks.  Lambernier suddenly saw his haggard face reflected in the river fifty feet below.  At this sight, and feeling a powerful knee between his shoulders which bent him over the abyss, as if to make him appreciate its dangers, the workman uttered a terrified cry; his hands clutched wildly at the tufts of grass and roots of plants which grew here and there on the sides of the rocks, and he struggled with all his might to throw himself back upon the ground.  But it was in vain for him to struggle against the superior strength of his adversary, and his attempts only aggravated the danger of his position.  After two or three powerless attempts, he found himself lying upon his stomach with half his body hanging over the precipice, having nothing to prevent him from falling over but Bergenheim’s hand, which held him by the collar and at the same time hindered him from rising.

“Have you ever said one word about this?” asked the Baron, as he took hold of the trunk of a tree to steady himself upon this dangerous ground that he had chosen as the field of discussion.

“To nobody!—­ah!—­how my head swims!” replied the carpenter, closing his eyes in terror, for the blood rushing to his brain made him dizzy, and it seemed to him that the river was slowly reaching him.

“You see that if I make one gesture, you are a dead man,” replied the Baron, leaning upon him harder yet.

“Give me up to the police; I will say nothing about the letters; as sure as there is a God, I will say nothing.  But do not let me fall—­hold me tight—­do not let go of me—­I am slipping—­oh! holy mother of God!”