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A FRENCH VOLUNTEER


cult, because the nine or ten inches of plaster I had to get through, prevented my seeing the real positions of the stones, which I had then to attack very warily for fear that they should bring down with them, when they fell, some of the plaster above the line of blue paint. I made my tunnel so that, when I had crawled in on my stomach, I could then draw up my legs, and sit like a journeyman tailor. The light to work by, I obtained in the best way I could, by converting pomade pots into lamps, filling them with lard, and inserting a bit of wick.

The "solution of continuity," existing between the wall and the tower, allowed me to respire the external air, which was a great relief to me. I calculated that I had still nearly four feet of masonry to cut through, and that I was about half through my work, when, about eleven o'clock or midnight, I heard a voice pronounce these terrible words:

"Look, papa, there is a light at the foot of the castle tower."

The words were uttered by a little boy,