I'm silent, of course. Let your mind rest about me. But there's the
baker Carcaud--"

"The baker?" asked Ranulph dumfounded. "I thought he was tied to a rock
and left to drown, by Rullecour's orders."

"I had him set free after Rullecour had gone on to the town. He got away
to France."

Ranulph's anxiety deepened. "He might come back, and then if anything
happened to him--"

"He'd try and make things happen to others, eh? But there's little danger
of his coming back. They know he's a traitor, and he knows he'd be hung.
If he's alive he'll stay where he is. Cheer up! Take my word, Olivier
Delagarde has only himself to fear." He put out his hand. "Good-bye.
If ever I can do anything for you, if you ever want to find me, come or
send to--no, I'll write it," he suddenly added, and scribbling something
on a piece of paper he handed it over.

They parted with another handshake, Detricand making his way into the Rue
d'Egypte, and towards the Place du Vier Prison.

Ranulph stood looking dazedly at the crowd before him, misery, revolt,
and bitterness in his heart. This French adventurer, Detricand, after
years of riotous living, could pick up the threads of life again with a
laugh and no shame, while he felt himself going down, down, down, with no
hope of ever rising again.

As he stood buried in his reflections the town crier entered the Vier