ying, "_Votre
mouchoir, monsieur_."

"Merci," replied O'Brien, putting the handkerchief which contained the
map into his pocket; "_voici a boire, mon ami_;" and he slipped the
paper with the five Napoleons into the hand of the gendarme, who
immediately retreated.

This was very fortunate for us, as we afterwards discovered that a mark
had been put against O'Brien's and my name, not to allow parole or
permission to leave the fortress, even under surveillance.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

O'BRIEN RECEIVES HIS COMMISSION AS LIEUTENANT AND THEN WE TAKE FRENCH
LEAVE OF GIVET.

If I doubted the practicability of escape when I examined the exterior,
when we were ushered into the interior of the fortress, I felt that it
was impossible, and I stated my opinion to O'Brien. We were conducted
into a yard surrounded by a high wall; the buildings appropriated for
the prisoners were built with _lean-to_ roofs on one side, and at each
side of the square was a sentry looking down upon us. It was very much
like the dens which they now build for bears, only so much larger.
O'Brien answered me with a "Pish! Peter, it's the very security of the
place which will enable us to get out of it. But don't talk, as there
are always spies about who understand English."

We were shown into a room allotted to six of us; our baggage was
examined, and then delivered over to us. "Better and better, Peter,"
observed O'Brien, "they've not found it out!"

"What?" inquired I.

"Oh, only a little selection of articles, which might be useful to us
by-and-by."

He then showed me what I never before was aware of; that he had a false
bottom to his trunk; but it was papered over like the rest, and very
ingeniously concealed. "And what is there, O'Brien?" inquired I.

"Never mind; I had them made at Montpelier. You'll see by-and-by."

The others, who were lodged in the same room, then came in, and, after
staying a quarter of an hour, went away at the sound of the dinner-bell.
"Now, Peter," said O'Brien, "I must get rid of my load. Turn the key."

O'Brien then undressed himself, and then he threw off his shirt and
drawers, showed me a rope of silk, with a knot at every two feet, about
half an inch in size, wound round and round his body. There were about
sixty feet of it altogether. As I unwound it, he, turning round and
round, observed, "Peter, I've worn this rope ever since I left
Montpelier, and you've no idea of the pain I have suffered; bu