"No, I am sure you will make fun of me, mother, I'll tell you later.

Besides, he never came . . . though I thought for a moment . . . Yes, fancy, I had managed to remove two stones from the wall and to open this hole of which my gaolers evidently didn't know. All of a sudden, I heard a noise, someone scratching . . ."

"It was All's Well?"

"It was Master All's Well coming by the other road. You can imagine the welcome he received! Only what astonished me was that n.o.body followed him this way, neither Honorine nor grandfather. I had no pencil or paper to write to them; but, after all, they had only to follow All's Well."

"That was impossible," said Veronique, "because they believed you to be far away from Sarek, carried off no doubt, and because your grandfather had left."

"Just so: why believe anything of the sort? Grandfather knew, from a lately discovered doc.u.ment, where we were, for it was he who told us of the possible entrance to the underground pa.s.sage. Didn't he speak to you about it?"

Veronique had been very happy in listening to her son's story. As he had been carried off and imprisoned, he was not the atrocious monster who had killed M. d'Hergemont, Marie Le Goff, Honorine and Correjou and his companions. The truth which she had already vaguely surmised now a.s.sumed a more definite form and, though still thickly shrouded, was visible in its essential part. Francois was not guilty. Some one had put on his clothes and impersonated him, even as some one else, in the semblance of Stephane, had pretended to be Stephane. Ah, what did all the rest matter, the improbabilities and inconsistencies, the proofs and certainties! Veronique did not even think about it. The only thing that counted was the innocence of her beloved son.

And so she still refused to tell him anything that would sadden him and spoil his happiness; and she said:

"No, I have not seen your grandfather. Honorine wanted to prepare him for my visit, but things happened so hurriedly . . ."

"And you were left alone on the island, poor mother? So you hoped to find me here?"

"Yes," she said, after a moment's hesitation.

"Alone, but with All's Well, of course."

"Yes. I hardly paid any attention to him during the first days. It was not until this morning that I thought of following him."

"And where does the road start from that brought you here?"

"It's an underground pa.s.sage the outlet of which is concealed between two stones near Maguennoc's garden."

"What! Then the two islands communicate?"

"Yes, by the cliff underneath the bridge."

"How strange! That's what neither Stephane not I guessed, nor anybody else, for that matter . . . except our dear All's Well, when it came to finding his master."

He interrupted himself and then whispered:

"Hark!"

But, the next moment, he said:

"No, it's not that yet. Still, we must hurry."

"What am I to do?"

"It's quite simple, mother. When I made this hole, I saw that it could be widened easily enough, if it were possible also to take out the three or four stones next to it. But these are firmly fixed; and we should need an implement of some kind."

"Well, I'll go and . . ."

"Yes, do, mother. Go back to the Priory. To the left of the house, in a bas.e.m.e.nt, is a sort of workshop where Maguennoc kept his garden-tools.

You will find a small pick-axe there, with a very short handle. Bring it me in the evening. I will work during the night; and to-morrow morning I shall give you a kiss, mother."

"Oh, it sounds too good to be true!"

"I promise you I shall. Then all that we shall have to do will be to release Stephane."

"Your tutor? Do you know where he is shut up?"

"I do almost know. According to the particulars which grandfather gave us, the underground pa.s.sages consist of two floors one above the other; and the last cell of each is fitted as a prison. I occupy one of them.

Stephane should occupy the other, below mine. What worries me . . ."

"What is it?"

"Well, it's this: according to grandfather again, these two cells were once torture-chambers . . . 'death chambers' was the word grandfather used."

"Oh, but how alarming!"

"Why alarm yourself, mother? You see that they are not thinking of torturing me. Only, on the off chance and not knowing what sort of fate was in store for Stephane, I sent him something to eat by All's Well, who is sure to have found a way of getting to him."

"No," she said, "All's Well did not understand."

"How do you know, mother?"

"He thought you were sending him to Stephane Maroux's room and he heaped it all under the bed."

"Oh!" said the boy, anxiously. "What can have become of Stephane?" And he at once added, "You see, mother, that we must hurry, if we would save Stephane and save ourselves."

"What are you afraid of?"

"Nothing, if you act quickly."

"But still . . ."

"Nothing, I a.s.sure you. I feel certain that we shall get the better of every obstacle."

"And, if any others present themselves . . . dangers which we cannot foresee? . . ."

"It is then," said Francois, laughing, "that the man whom I am expecting will come and protect us."

"You see, my darling, you yourself admit the need of a.s.sistance . . . ."

"Why, no, mother, I am trying to ease your mind, but nothing will happen. Come, how would you have a son who has just found his mother lose her again at once? It isn't possible. In real life, may be . . .

but we are not living in real life. We are absolutely living in a romance; and in romances things always come right. You ask All's Well.

It's so, old chap, isn't it: we shall win and be united and live happy ever after? That's what you think, All's Well? Then be off, old chap, and take mother with you. I'm going to fill up the hole, in case they come and inspect my cell. And be sure not to try and come in when the hole is stopped, eh, All's Well? That's when the danger is. Go, mother, and don't make a noise when you come back."

Veronique was not long away. She found the pick-axe; and, forty minutes after, brought it and managed to slip it into the cell.

"No one has been yet," said Francois, "but they are certain to come soon and you had better not stay. I may have a night's work before me, especially as I shall have to stop because of likely visits. So I shall expect you at seven o'clock to-morrow . . . . By the way, talking of Stephane: I have been thinking it over. Some noises which I heard just now confirmed my notion that he is shut up more or less underneath me.

The opening that lights my cell is too narrow for me to pa.s.s through.

Is there a fairly wide window at the place where you are now?"