"To the death."

"Listen, then. To-morrow, a renowned
marshal will visit the port. He will inspect the docks,
the prisons, the quarries. There will be plenty
of cannonading from the forts and the shipping,
and if two convicts escape, a volley more or less
will attract no attention round about Toulon.
Do you understand?"

"You mean that no one will recognise the
signals?"

"Not even the sentries at the town-gates—
not even the guards in the next quarry. Devil's
mass! What can be easier than to strike off
each other's fetters with the pickaxe when the
superintendent is not looking, and the salutes
are firing? Will you venture?"

"With my life!'"

"A bargain. Shake hands on it."

I had never touched his hand in fellowship
before, and I felt as if my own were blood-
stained by the contact. I knew by the sullen
fire in his glance, that he interpreted my faltering
touch aright.

We were roused an hour earlier than usual
the following morning, and went through a
general inspection in the prison-yard. Before
going to work, we were served with a double
allowance of wine. At one o'clock, we heard
the first far-off salutes from the ships of war in
the harbour. The sound ran through me like a
galvanic shock. One by one, the forts took up
the signal. It was repeated by the gun-boats
closer in shore. Discharge followed discharge,
all along the batteries on both sides of the port,
and the air grew thick with smoke.

"As the first shot is fired yonder," whispered
Gasparo, pointing to the barracks behind the
prison, "strike at the first link of my chain,
close to the ankle."

A rapid suspicion flashed across me.

"If I do, how can I be sure that you will
free me afterwards? No, Gasparo; you must
deal the first blow."

"As you please," he replied, with a laugh
and an imprecation.

At the same instant, came a flash from the
battlements of the barrack close by, and then a
thunderous reverberation, multiplied again and
again by the rocks around. As the roar burst
over our heads, I saw him strike, and felt the
fetters fall. Scarcely had the echo of the first
gun died away, when the second was fired. It
was now Gasparo's turn to be free. I struck;
but less skilfully, and had twice to repeat the
blow before breaking the stubborn link. We
then went on, apparently, with our work, standing
somewhat close together, with the chain
huddled up between us. No one had observed
us, and no one, at first sight, could have
detected what we had done. At the third shot,
a party of officers and gentlemen made their
appearance at the bend of the road leading up to
the quarry. In an instant, every head was
turned in their direction; every felon paused in
his work; every guard presented arms. At
that moment we flung away our caps and pick-
axes, scaled the rugged bit of cliff on which we
had been toiling, dropped into the ravine below,
and made for the mountain passes that lead into
the valley. Encumbered still with the iron
anklets to which our chains had been fastened,
we could not run very swiftly. To add to our
difficulties, the road was uneven, strewn with
flints and blocks of fallen granite, and tortuous
as the windings of a snake. Suddenly, on turning
a sharp angle of projecting cliff, we came
upon a little guard-house and a couple of
sentries. To retreat was impossible. The
soldiers were within a few yards of us. They
presented their pieces, and called to us to
surrender. Gasparo turned upon me like a wolf at
bay.

"Curse you!" said he, dealing me a
tremendous blow, "stay and be taken! I have
always hated you!"

I fell, as if struck down by a sledge hammer,
and, as I fell, saw him dash one soldier to the
ground, dart past the other, heard a shot, and
then ... all became dark, and I know no more.

When I next opened my eyes, I found myself
lying on the floor of a small unfurnished room,
dimly lighted by a tiny window close against
the ceiling. It seemed as if weeks had gone by,
since I lost consciousness. I had scarcely
strength to rise, and, having risen, kept my feet
with difficulty. Where my head had lain, the
floor was wet with blood. Giddy and perplexed,
I leaned against the wall, and tried to think.

In the first place, where was I? Evidently
in no part of the prison from which I had escaped.
There, all was solid stone and iron grating; here,
was only whitewashed lath and plaster. I must
be in a chamber of the little guard-house:
probably in an upper chamber. Where, then, were
the soldiers? Where was Gasparo? Had I
strength to clamber up to that window, and if
so, in what direction did that window look out?
I stole to the door, and found it locked. I
listened, breathlessly, but could hear no sound
either below or above. Creeping back again, I
saw that the little window was at least four
feet above my head. The smooth plaster offered
no projections by which I could raise myself,
and there was not even a fireplace in the room
from which I could have wrenched a bar to dig
out holes in the wall for my feet and hands.
Stay! There was my leathern belt, and on the
belt, the iron hook which used to sustain my
chain when I was not at work. I tore off the
hook, picked away the lath and plaster in three
or four places, climbed up, opened the window,
and gazed out eagerly. Before me, at a distance
of not more than thirty-five or forty feet, rose the
rugged cliff under whose shelter the guard-house
was built; at my feet, lay a little kitchen-garden,
divided from the base of the rock by a muddy
ditch which seemed to run through the ravine;
to the right and left, as well as I could judge,
lay the rocky path along which our course had
been directed. My decision was taken at once.
To stay was certain capture; to venture, at all
hazards, would make matters no worse. Again
I listened, and again all was quiet. I drew
myself through the little casement, dropped