m helpless. He felt himself drifting into unconsciousness
and strove vainly against it. He knew he had lost the battle, there was
nothing to hope for from this man--nothing. Well--it had been a finish
fight and--one or the other had to go. _He_ was the one, he was
going--going. He--he couldn't fix his thoughts. What queer lights! Hey,
Caesar! How silly! Caesar was dead--Oh! he must tell Papa Tignol that--a
man shouldn't swear so with a--red--nose. Stop! this must be the--_end_
and----

With a last rally of his darkening consciousness, Coquenil called up his
mother's face and, looking at it through the eyes of his soul, he spoke to
her across the miles, in a wild, voiceless cry: "I did the best I could,
little mother, the--the best I--could."

Then utter blackness!

CHAPTER XXVIII

A GREAT CRIMINAL

Coquenil came back to consciousness his first thought was that the
adventure had brought him no pain; he moved his arms and legs and
discovered no injury, then he reached out a hand and found that he was
lying on a cold stone floor with his head on a rough sack filled apparently
with shavings.

He did not open his eyes, but tried to think where he could be and to
imagine what had happened. It was not conceivable that his enemy would let
him escape, this delay was merely preliminary to something else and--he was
certainly a prisoner--somewhere.

Reasoning thus he caught a sound as of rustling paper, then a faint
scratching. With eyes still shut, he turned his face toward the scratching
sound, then away from it, then toward it, then away from it. Now he sniffed
the air about him, now he rubbed a finger on the floor and smelled it, now
he lay quiet and listened. He had found a fascinating problem, and for a
long time he studied it without moving and without opening his eyes.

Finally he spoke aloud in playful reproach: "It's a pity, baron, to write
in that wonderful diary of yours with a lead pencil."

Instantly there came the scraping of a chair and quick approaching steps.

"How did you see me?" asked a harsh voice.

Coquenil smiled toward a faint light, but kept his eyes closed. "I didn't,
I haven't seen you yet."

"But you knew I was writing in my diary?"

"Because you were so absorbed that you did not hear me stir."

"Humph! And the lead pencil?"

"I heard you sharpen it. That was just before you stopped to eat the
orange."

The light came nearer. M. Paul felt that the baron was bending over him.