The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX. No. 1002, March 11, 1899

A BARRED WINDOW.

How the next fortnight passed, Roy never afterwards could recall. He was sick and dazed with the shock he had had, grieving for Will Peirce, and all but hopeless. He had ceased to care for food, and, though he slept much, passing hours at a time in heavy doze, it was not the kind of sleep to rest him. Life at this time seemed awfully hard to live. Sometimes he envied little Will.

The Colonel, who had spoken to him that day, spoke to him again often when they met in the yard; and Roy was grateful, but he could not rouse himself. He had lost all interest in what went on around him. He hated the yard, and he always kept as far as possible from the spot where that terrible exposure had taken place.

His one longing was to know how the other poor boys in the hospital were; but accounts in that direction were uncertain and not to be relied upon.

About a fortnight later, one cold afternoon, he was leaning against the wall at the further end, hardly thinking, only drearily enduring. He became aware of a man coming across the yard, carrying a large basket, or hotte, piled up with loose wood—not a gendarme, but evidently one employed in the fortress on manual work.

Something about the fellow arrested Roy’s attention, though why it should be so Roy had no idea. He was of medium height, broad-shouldered and long-limbed, and he walked in a slouching manner. As he drew near the basket tilted over, raining the whole mass of wood at Roy’s feet.

“Hallo!” exclaimed Roy.

The man muttered something, and went slowly down upon his knees to pick up the wood. No one else was near. A body of prisoners had been that morning removed elsewhere, and the yard was not so full as usual. Roy, after a moment’s hesitation, good-naturedly bent to help; and as he did so, their faces came close together.

“Hist!” was whispered cautiously.

Roy started.

“Hist!”—again. “Does monsieur know me? But not a word—hist!”

Roy drew one quick breath. Then he picked up more pieces of wood, tossing them into the hotte. He cast another glance at the man, his whole being on the alert. In an instant he saw again the small French town, the crowd in front of the hôtel de ville, the released conscript, the old mother clinging to Denham’s hands, and Denham’s compassionate face. All was clear.

“Jean Paulet,” he breathed.

“Hist!”—softly.

“But—you are he?”

“Oui, M’sieu.”

Jean piled some of the wood together, with unnecessary fuss and noise.

“Will M’sieu not betray that he has seen me before? It is important.”

“Oui.”

Roy tossed two more bits of wood into the hotte. Then he stood up, yawned, and stared listlessly in another direction. After which he hung lazily over the hotte, as if to play with the wood, and under cover of it a touch of cold steel came against his left hand.

“Hist!”—at the same instant.

Roy grasped and slipped the something securely out of reach and out of sight, without a moment’s hesitation. His right hand still turned over the wood.

“Bon!” Jean murmured, making a considerable clatter. Then, low and clearly—“Listen! If M’sieu will file away the bar of his window—ready to be removed—I will be there outside, to-morrow night after dark. When M’sieu hears a whistle—hist! But truly this weight is considerable—oui, M’sieu—and a poor man like me may not complain.”

Jean hitched up the big hotte, now full, and passed on, grumbling audibly, while Roy strolled back to his former position. His heart was beating like a hammer, and he dreaded lest he might betray his change of mood in his face. To return to his former dejected attitude was not easy when new life was stirring in every vein; but he managed to shirk observation, and when two o’clock came it was a relief to be alone in his cell. He could safely there fling his arms aloft in a frenzy of delight.

If only little Will might have escaped with him! That thought lay as a weight of sorrow in his joy.

But there was little leisure for regrets. He had a task to accomplish in a given time, and it might not be an easy task. Many a time he had examined the stout iron bar wedged firmly in across the small window. If that could be taken out, he would be able to squeeze himself through; but to take out the bar, or at least to move it on one side, meant first to file nearly through it—quite through, indeed, for the noise of breaking it might not be risked. What might lie on the other side, down below, he could only guess, since the deep embrasure within, and the thickness of the wall without, prevented him from seeing.

The gendarmes visited him at stated intervals, and he could pretty well reckon upon their visits; yet he knew well that he was never secure against a sudden interruption at any moment. He had to work at the bar in a difficult and cramped position, supporting himself in a corner of the slanting embrasure and filing lightly, so that no sound should reach the ears of any passer-by outside, while his own hearing had to be incessantly strained towards the cell-door to catch the faintest intimation of anybody entering.

One narrow escape of detection he had. Absorbed in his toil, he failed to hear the first preliminary click of the lock, and the door began to open. Roy flung himself to the ground, reckless of bruises, and the noise of his fall was happily drowned in the creak of the door. When the gendarme entered, he found a sleepy prisoner, lying with head on folded arms. Roy wondered that the thumping of his heart did not betray him.

Thoughtful Jean had provided him with three files; and but for this the plan would have proved a failure. Two of them broke. The third held out to the end.

A good part of the night he worked, growing terrified lest the task should not be done in time. In the dark, by feeling instead of sight, silently and persistently, despite aching muscles, he kept on at it. His hands were strained and bleeding, and next day he had carefully to guard them from notice. In the morning he was again up in the embrasure—after the usual visit from a gendarme—filing, filing, softly and steadily. By mid-day he had worked his way through the heavy bar.

Roy stirred it cautiously. Yes, it yielded. The other end alone would not hold it firm. One good wrench, and it could be forced aside.

That was all he had now to do. The bar would have to remain in position till the last moment. He cleared away every speck of iron filing, and then he had to go into the yard. What if the gendarmes should examine the cell during his absence and find out what he had done? What if, any hour before night, they should take it into their heads to test the bar? What if, before Jean came, Roy himself should be removed elsewhere? Then came another question. What if his mother’s prayers were being answered?

And by-and-by the afternoon had waned away without any mischance, and the gendarme’s evening visit had been safely paid. Roy’s allowance of food lay upon the floor, the window had not been examined, and Roy was left alone for the night. He wisely disposed of the food, knowing that he would need all his strength. Then he waited, minute after minute, in a suspense hardly to be imagined, not to be described.

A slight faint whistle, close to the window.

In a moment Roy was up in the slanting embrasure, where for hours he had clung, getting through his task.

Jean’s hand met his, and together, noiselessly, they wrenched the bar aside.

“Hist! Be still as death!” whispered Jean.

Roy squeezed himself through the opening, Jean’s grasp steadying him. He found his feet to be resting on the topmost rung of a ladder. Jean whispered one or two directions, then himself went down and held it firm below while Roy followed. Little need was there to bid the boy be quiet in his movements. The slightest sound might betray them, destroying every hope of escape.

The moment Roy reached the bottom, Jean’s hand grasped his wrist and led him away. The ladder had to remain where it was. Its removal would have meant too great a risk. Roy could not see where they were, for pitch darkness surrounded them; but Jean moved with confidence, though with extreme care.

Soon they had to pass near a sentry, and a sharp challenge rang out. Roy’s heart leaped into his mouth, and Jean promptly replied with the password for the night. Veiled by the darkness, which was increased by a drizzling rain, they went by in safety.