tightly into my corner of the ledge, I made room for him between
us. "See, Madame," I cried, craftily, "will you not have pity on
three boys?"

St. Crois's boyish face and fair hair arrested her attention, as
I had expected. Her expression grew softer, and she murmured,
"Poor boy!"

I caught at the opportunity. "We do but seek a passage through
your room," I said fervently. Good heavens, what had we not at
stake! What if she should remain obdurate? "We are in trouble
--in despair," I panted. "So, I believe, are you. We will help
you if you will first save us. We are boys, but we can fight for
you."

"Whom am I to trust?" she exclaimed, with a shudder. "But
heaven forbid," she continued, her eyes on Croisette's face,
"that, wanting help, I should refuse to give it. Come in, if you
will."

I poured out my thanks, and had forced my head between the bars
--at imminent risk of its remaining there--before the words were
well out of her mouth. But to enter was no easy task after all.
Croisette did, indeed, squeeze through at last, and then by force
pulled first one and then the other of us after him. But only
necessity and that chasm behind could have nerved us, I think, to
go through a process so painful. When I stood, at length on the
floor, I seemed to be one great abrasion from head to foot. And
before a lady, too!