rpose was to keep others from communicating with
me. De Tonty had evidently resorted to diplomacy, and instead of
quarreling with the three officers when they approached him, had
greeted them all so genially as to leave the impression that he was
disposed to permit matters to take their natural course. He might be
watched of course, yet was no longer suspicioned as likely to help
rescue the prisoner. All their fear now was centered upon me, and my
possible influence.

If I could be kept from any further communication with either De
Artigny, or De Tonty, it was scarcely probable that any of the
garrison would make serious effort to interfere with their plans. De
Tonty's apparent indifference, and his sudden friendliness with De
Baugis and Cassion, did not worry me greatly. I realized his purpose
in thus diverting suspicion. His pledge of assistance had been given
me, and his was the word of a soldier and gentleman. In some manner,
and soon--before midnight certainly--I would receive message from
Boisrondet.

Yet my heart failed me more than once as I waited. How long the time
seemed, and how deadly silent was the night. Crouched close beside the
door I could barely hear the muttered conversation of the soldiers on
guard; and when I crossed to the open window I looked out upon a black
void, utterly soundless. Not even the distant crack of a rifle now
broke the solemn stillness, and the only spot of color visible was the
dull red glow of a campfire on the opposite bank of the river. I had
no way of computing time, and the lagging hours seemed centuries long,
as terrifying doubts assailed me.

Every new thought became an agony of suspense. Had the plans failed?
Had Boisrondet discovered the prisoner so closely guarded as to make
rescue impossible? Had his nerve, his daring, vanished before the real
danger of the venture? Had De Artigny refused to accept the chance?
What had happened; what was happening out there in the mystery?

All I could do was pray, and wait. Perhaps no word would be given
me--the escape might already be accomplished, and I left here to my
fate. Boisrondet knew nothing of my decision to accompany De Artigny
in his exile. If the way was difficult and dangerous, he might not
consider it essential to communicate with me at all. De Tonty had
promised, to be sure, yet he might have failed to so instruct the
younger man. I clung to the window, the agony of this possibility,
driving me wild.

_Mon Dieu!