Fabrice attached one of the shorter ropes to his bed, and struggled
through the shutter--an ungainly figure, for round his body was wound
the immense rope necessary for the long descent. Once on the
roof-platform he made his way along the parapet until he came to a new
stove which he had been told marked the best spot for lowering the rope.
He could hear the soldiers talking near at hand, but the fog made him
invisible. Unrolling his rope, and fastening his rope to the parapet by
threading it through a water-duct, he flung it over; then, with a prayer
and a thought of Clelia, he began to descend.

At first he went down mechanically, as if doing the feat for a wager.
About half-way down, his arms seemed to lose their strength; he nearly
let go--he might have fallen had he not supported himself by clinging to
the vegetation on the wall. From time to time he felt horrible pain
between the shoulders. Birds hustled against him now and then; he feared
at the first contact with them that pursuers were coming down the rope
after him. But he reached the rampart undamaged save for bleeding hands.

He was quite exhausted; for a few minutes he slept. On waking and
realising the situation, he attached his third rope to a cannon, and
hurried down to the ground. Two men seized him just as he fainted at the
foot.

A few hours afterwards a carriage crossed the frontier with Ludovico on
the box, and within it the Duchess watching over the sleeping Fabrice.
The journey did not end until they had reached Locarno on Lake Maggiore.


_V.--Clelia's Vow_