It was, as I said, quite late at night when Pericard arrived. He let
himself in, not by the entrance through which he had come previously,
but by the underground passage. He carried a dark lantern in one
hand, and a neat little basket in the other. Never was knight of old
more eagerly welcomed than was this French boy now by the poor little
prisoners. They were all cold and hungry, and the rushing and
scraping of the rats had filled their little hearts with most natural
alarm.
Pericard came in softly, and laying down his dark lantern proceeded
to unpack the contents of the basket. It contained cold sausages,
broken bits of meat, and some rolls buttered and cut in two: there
was also a pint bottle of _vin ordinaire_.
Pericard broke the neck of the bottle on the cellar wall. He then
gave the children a drink by turns in a little tin mug.
"And now," he said in French, "we must be off. Anton is in the
house; he is waiting for you all; he is roaring with anger and rage;
he would be out looking for you, but luckily--or you could not escape
--he is lame. The brave good dog bit him severely in the leg, and now
he cannot walk; and the grandmere has to poultice his leg. He thinks
I have gone to fetch you, for I pretend to be on his side. You have
just to-night to get away in; but I don't answer for the morning, for
Anton is so dying to get hold of Joe there that he will use his leg,
however he suffers, after to-night. You have just this one short
night in which to make your escape.
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