lustration]

"_He!_ Monsieur VESQUIER!" I shout. I have taken a wrong turning;
that is, I have taken some turning or other to the right, and there
is no sign of my guide. My fears have come true. My forebodings
are realised. I stumble on--over the tram-way lines--against the
casks--"_He, la bas! He!_ M. VESQUIER!!"--O dear!--"_Home Sweet
Home!_" What was that negro melody that now recurs to me as a sort of
singing in my ears--"Home once more! Home once more! Shall I _ever_
see my home once more!!"--A shout in the distance--or is it an
echo--no! Is it VESQUIER! I shout in return--then in the far distance
I descry a light ... it grows bigger ... a shriek ... a wild waving
of a blazing garish torch, and again I have to compress myself against
the barrels as another trolly whizzes past at full speed, carrying two
cheerful-looking, and except for that one shout, silent demons. "Hey
trolly lolly!" I cannot stay there--they have gone like a flash--and
the obscurity is becoming oppressive.... Shall I retrace my steps?
It isn't a question of "shall I,"--it is "_can I"?_ Through how many
turnings have we come? No--I should never find my way back again.
Better push on. I shout again: desperately but nervously. There is
not even an echo. And now my candle, which has been guttering and
sputtering for the last few moments, is threatening dissolution. It
is the beginning of the end--of the candle-end. If the candle goes out
before I do--Heavens! but I must move very cautiously. What a subject
for a Jules-Verne novel! _Ah, how I should enjoy reading about it in
a story!!_ But as a personal experience ... Where am I? Is it straight
on? or to the left?--I think there is a left passage--or to the right?
I peer down in the hopes of seeing some evidence of life, at all
events the glimmer of a light, which may probably mean my guide.
No; not a sign. Are there rats here? If so.... the candle-end is
sputtering worse than ever ... it is flickering ... What's to be
done?... I shout "Hullo!" at the top of my voice. Yes, at the top of
my voice, but at the bottom of the caves. Then the question occurs to
me, of what use is it to shout in English? No one will understand me.
The candle-end is making a final struggle for life. So must I. "_He',
la bas!_" I shout "with all my might and main," like the celebrity
of the old nursery tale, who jumped into a quickset hedge as an
infallible remedy for blindness. No result. I think of the man in
the dungeon