_chef-d'oeuvre_ of Satan. I heard you say so the other day."

My father burst into a Titanic roar of laughter.

"Said I so?" shouted he. "Thunder and Mars! I did not remember that I had
ever said anything half so epigrammatic!"

Now from this it will be seen that the prisoner and I were already
acquainted. We had, indeed, taken to each other from the first, and our
mutual liking ripened so rapidly that before a week was gone by we had
become the fastest friends in the world.

Our first meeting, as I have already said, took place upon the terrace. Our
second, which befell on the afternoon of the same day when my father and I
had held the conversation just recorded, happened on the stairs. Monsieur
Maurice was coming up with his hat on; I was running down. He stopped, and
held out both his hands.

"_Bonjour, petite_," he said, smiling. "Whither away so fast?"

The hoar frost was clinging to his coat, where he had brushed against the
trees in his walk, and he looked pale and tired.

"I am going home," I replied.

"Home? Did you not tell me you lived in the Chateau?"

"So I do, Monsieur; but at the other side, up the other staircase. This is
the side of the state-apartments."