So the bargain was quickly concluded.
The prisoner's life was promised, him in exchange for the life of Lacheneur.
A soldier, who chanced to be Corporal Bavois, was sent to summon Marie-Anne.
And Chanlouineau waited in terrible anxiety.

No one had told him what had taken place at Escorval, but he divined it by the aid of that strange prescience which so often illuminates the mind when death is near at hand.
He was almost certain that Mme.

d'Escorval was in Montaignac; he was equally certain that Marie-Anne was with her; and if she were, he knew that she would come.
And he waited, counting the seconds by the throbbings of his heart.
He waited, understanding the cause of every sound without, distinguishing with the marvellous acuteness of senses excited to the highest pitch by passion, sounds which would have been inaudible to another person.
At last, at the end of the corridor, he heard the rustling of a dress against the wall.
"It is she," he murmured.
Footsteps approached; the heavy bolts were drawn back, the door opened, and Marie-Anne entered, accompanied by Corporal Bavois.
"Monsieur de Courtornieu promised me that we should be left alone!" exclaimed Chanlouineau.
"Therefore, I go at once," replied the old soldier.

"But I have orders to return for mademoiselle in half an hour." When the door closed behind the worthy corporal, Chanlouineau took Marie-Anne's hand and drew her to the tiny grafted window.
"Thank you for coming," said he, "thank you.

I can see you and speak to you once more.