Having acquainted the magistrate with the purport of the note, Lecoq next rolled up the paper, and enclosing it in the fragment of bread, remarked:  “To-morrow we shall learn something new.”

To-morrow!  The twenty-four hours that separated the young man from the decisive moment he looked forward to seemed as it were a century; and he resorted to every possible expedient to hasten the passing of the time.  At length, after giving precise instructions to Father Absinthe, he retired to his loft for the night.  The hours seemed interminable, and such was his nervous excitement that he found it quite impossible to sleep.  On rising at daybreak he discovered that the prisoner was already awake.  May was sitting on the foot of his bed, apparently plunged in thought.  Suddenly he sprang to his feet and paced restlessly to and fro.  He was evidently in an unusually agitated frame of mind:  for he gesticulated wildly, and at intervals repeated:  “What misery!  My God! what misery!”

“Ah! my fine fellow,” thought Lecoq, “you are anxious about the daily letter you failed to receive yesterday.  Patience, patience!  One of my writing will soon arrive.”

At last the young detective heard the stir usually preceding the distribution of the food.  People were running to and fro, sabots clicked noisily in the corridors, and the keepers could be heard engaged in loud conversation.  By and by the prison bell began to toll.  It was eleven o’clock, and soon afterward the prisoner commenced to sing his favorite song: 

“Diogene!  Sous ton manteau, libre et content—­”

Before he commenced the third line the slight sound caused by the fragment of bread as it fell upon the stone floor caused him to pause abruptly.

Lecoq, at the opening in the ceiling above, was holding his breath and watching with both eyes.  He did not miss one of the prisoner’s movements—­not so much as the quiver of an eyelid.  May looked first at the window, and then all round the cell, as if it were impossible for him to explain the arrival of this projectile.  It was not until some little time had elapsed that he decided to pick it up.  He held it in the hollow of his hand, and examined it with apparent curiosity.  His features expressed intense surprise, and any one would have sworn that he was innocent of all complicity.  Soon a smile gathered round his lips, and after a slight shrug of the shoulders, which might be interpreted, “Am I a fool?” he hastily broke the pellet in half.  The sight of the paper which it contained seemed to amaze him.

“What does all this mean?” wondered Lecoq.

The prisoner had opened the note, and was examining with knitted brows the figures which were apparently destitute of all meaning to him.  Then, suddenly rushing to the door of his cell, and hammering upon it with clenched fists, he cried at the top of his voice:  “Here! keeper! here!”

“What do you want?” shouted a turnkey, whose footsteps Lecoq could hear hastening along the adjoining passage.