Long the mother and son remained thus, kneeling against the wall that divided them, yet as close together as though they were able to see each other with their frenzied¹ eyes and to mingle² their tears and kisses. They spoke³ both at once, asking each other questions and answering them at random⁴. They were in a transport of delight. The life of each flowed over into the other's life and became swallowed up in it. No power on earth could now dissolve their union or break the bonds of love and confidence which unite mothers and sons.  
"Yes, All's Well, old man," said François, "you may sit up as much and as long as you like. We are really crying this time . . . and you will be the first to get tired, for one doesn't mind shedding such tears as these, does one, mother?"
 
As for Véronique, her mind retained not a vestige⁵ of the terrible visions which had dismayed it. Her son a murderer, her son killing⁶ and massacring people: she no longer admitted any of that. She did not even admit the excuse of madness. Everything would be explained in some other way which she was not even in a hurry to understand. She thought only of her son. He was there. His eyes saw her through the wall. His heart beat against hers. He lived; and he was the same gentle, affectionate, pure and charming child that her maternal⁷ dreams had pictured.
 
"My son, my son!" she kept on repeating, as though she could not utter those marvellous words often enough. "My son, it's you, it's you! I believed you dead, a thousand times dead, more dead than it is possible to be . . . . And you are alive! And you are here! And I am touching⁸ you! O Heaven, can it be true! I have a son . . . and my son is alive! . . ."
 
And he, on his side, took up the refrain with the same passionate⁹ fervour:
 
"Mother! Mother! I have waited for you so long! . . . To me you were not dead, but it was so sad to be a child and to have no mother . . . to see the years go by and to waste them in waiting for you."
 
For an hour they talked at random, of the past, of the present, of a hundred subjects which at first appeared to them the most interesting things in the world and which they forthwith dropped to ask each other more questions and to try to know each other a little better and to enter more deeply into the secret of their lives and the privacy of their souls.
 
It was François who first attempted to impart some little method to their conversation:
 
"Listen, mother; we have so much to say to each other that we must give up trying to say it all to-day and even for days and days. Let us speak now of what is essential and in the fewest possible words, for we have perhaps not much time before us."
 
"What do you mean?" said Véronique, instantly alarmed. "I have no intention of leaving you!"
 
"But, mother, if we are not to leave each other, we must first be united. Now there are many obstacles to be overcome, even if it were only the wall that separates us. Besides, I am very closely watched; and I may be obliged at any moment to send you away, as I do All's Well, at the first sound of footsteps approaching."
 
"Watched by whom?"
 
"By those who fell upon Stéphane and me on the day when we discovered the entrance to these caves, under the heath on the table-land, the Black Heath."
 
"Did you see them?"
 
"No, it was too dark."
 
"But who are they? Who are those enemies?"
 
"I don't know."
 
"You suspect, of course?"
 
"The Druids?" he said, laughing. "The people of old of whom the legends speak? Rather not! Ghosts? Not that either. They were just simply creatures of to-day, creatures of flesh and blood."
 
"They live down here, though?"
 
"Most likely."
 
"And you took them by surprise?"
 
"No, on the contrary. They seemed even to be expecting us and to be lying in wait for us. We had gone down a stone staircase and a very long passage, lined with perhaps eighty caves, or rather eighty cells. The doors, which were of wood, were open; and the cells overlooked the sea. It was on the way back, as we were going up the staircase again in the dark, that we were seized from one side, knocked down, bound, blindfolded¹⁰ and gagged. The whole thing did not take a minute. I suspect[Pg 136] that we were carried back to the end of the long passage. When I succeeded in removing my bonds and my bandage, I found that I was locked in one of the cells, probably the last in the passage; and I have been here ten days."
 
"My poor darling, how you must have suffered!"
 
"No, mother, and in any case not from hunger. There was a whole stack of provisions in one corner and a truss of straw in another to lie on. So I waited quietly."
 
"For whom?"
 
"You promise not to laugh, mother?"
 
"Laugh at what, dear?"
 
"At what I'm going to tell you?"
 
"How can you think . . . ?"
 
"Well, I was waiting for some one who had heard of all the stories of Sarek and who promised grandfather to come."
 
"But who was it?"
 
The boy hesitated:
 
"No, I am sure you will make fun of me, mother, I'll tell you later. Besides, he never came . . . though I thought for a moment . . . Yes, fancy, I had managed to remove two stones from the wall and to open this hole of which my gaolers evidently didn't know. All of a sudden, I heard a noise, someone scratching . . ."
 
"It was All's Well?"
 
"It was Master All's Well coming by the other road. You can imagine the welcome he received! Only what astonished me was that nobody followed him this way, neither Honorine nor grandfather. I had no pencil or paper to write to them; but, after all, they had only to follow All's Well."
 
"That was impossible," said Véronique, "because they believed you to be far away from Sarek, carried off no doubt, and because your grandfather had left."
 
"Just so: why believe anything of the sort? Grandfather knew, from a lately discovered document, where we were, for it was he who told us of the possible entrance to the underground passage. Didn't he speak to you about it?"
 
Véronique had been very happy in listening to her son's story. As he had been carried off and imprisoned¹¹, he was not the atrocious monster who had killed M. d'Hergemont, Marie Le Goff, Honorine and Corréjou and his companions. The truth which she had already vaguely¹² surmised¹³ now assumed a more definite form and, though still thickly shrouded¹⁴, was visible in its essential part. François was not guilty. Some one had put on his clothes and impersonated him, even as some one else, in the semblance¹⁵ of Stéphane, had pretended to be Stéphane. Ah, what did all the rest matter, the improbabilities and inconsistencies, the proofs and certainties! Véronique did not even think about it. The only thing that counted was the innocence¹⁶ of her beloved son.
 
And so she still refused to tell him anything that would sadden him and spoil his happiness; and she said:
 
"No, I have not seen your grandfather. Honorine wanted to prepare him for my visit, but things happened so hurriedly . . ."
 
"And you were left alone on the island, poor mother? So you hoped to find me here?"
 
"Yes," she said, after a moment's hesitation¹⁷.
 
"Alone, but with All's Well, of course."
 
"Yes. I hardly paid any attention to him during the first days. It was not until this morning that I thought of following him."
 
"And where does the road start from that brought you here?"
 
"It's an underground passage the outlet¹⁸ of which is concealed²⁰ between two stones near Maguennoc's garden."
 
"What! Then the two islands communicate?"
 
"Yes, by the cliff underneath²¹ the bridge."
 
"How strange! That's what neither Stéphane not I guessed, nor anybody else, for that matter . . . except our dear All's Well, when it came to finding his master."
 
He interrupted himself and then whispered:
 
"Hark!"
 
But, the next moment, he said:
 
"No, it's not that yet. Still, we must hurry."
 
"What am I to do?"
 
"It's quite simple, mother. When I made this hole, I saw that it could be widened easily enough, if it were possible also to take out the three or four stones next to it. But these are firmly fixed²²; and we should need an implement²³ of some kind."
 
"Well, I'll go and . . ."
 
"Yes, do, mother. Go back to the Priory. To the left of the house, in a basement, is a sort of workshop where Maguennoc kept his garden-tools. You will find a small pick-axe there, with a very short handle. Bring it me in the evening. I will work during the night; and to-morrow morning I shall give you a kiss, mother."
 
"Oh, it sounds too good to be true!"
 
"I promise you I shall. Then all that we shall have to do will be to release Stéphane."
 
"Your tutor? Do you know where he is shut up?"
 
"I do almost know. According to the particulars which grandfather gave us, the underground passages consist of two floors one above the other; and the last cell of each is fitted as a prison. I occupy one of them. Stéphane should occupy the other, below mine. What worries me . . ."
 
"What is it?"
 
"Well, it's this: according to grandfather again, these two cells were once torture-chambers²⁴ . . . 'death chambers' was the word grandfather used."
 
"Oh, but how alarming!"
 
"Why alarm yourself, mother? You see that they are not thinking of torturing me. Only, on the off chance and not knowing what sort of fate was in store for Stéphane, I sent him something to eat by All's Well, who is sure to have found a way of getting to him."
 
"No," she said, "All's Well did not understand."
 
"How do you know, mother?"
 
"He thought you were sending him to Stéphane Maroux's room and he heaped it all under the bed."
 
"Oh!" said the boy, anxiously. "What can have become of Stéphane?" And he at once added, "You see, mother, that we must hurry, if we would save Stéphane and save ourselves."
 
"What are you afraid of?"
 
"Nothing, if you act quickly."
 
"But still . . ."
 
"Nothing, I assure you. I feel certain that we shall get the better of every obstacle."
 
"And, if any others present themselves . . . dangers which we cannot foresee? . . ."
 
"It is then," said François, laughing, "that the man whom I am expecting will come and protect us."
 
"You see, my darling, you yourself admit the need of assistance . . . ."
 
"Why, no, mother, I am trying to ease your mind, but nothing will happen. Come, how would you have a son who has just found his mother lose her again at once? It isn't possible. In real life, may be . . . but we are not living in real life. We are absolutely living in a romance; and in romances things always come right. You ask All's Well. It's so, old chap, isn't it: we shall win and be united and live happy ever after? That's what you think, All's Well? Then be off, old chap, and take mother with you. I'm going to fill up the hole, in case they come and inspect my cell. And be sure not to try and come in when the hole is stopped, eh, All's Well? That's when the danger is. Go, mother, and don't make a noise when you come back."
 
Véronique was not long away. She found the pick-axe; and, forty minutes after, brought it and managed to slip it into the cell.
 
"No one has been yet," said François, "but they are certain to come soon and you had better not stay. I may have a night's work before me, especially as I shall have to stop because of likely visits. So I shall expect you at seven o'clock to-morrow . . . . By the way, talking of Stéphane: I have been thinking it over. Some noises which I heard just now confirmed my notion that he is shut up more or less underneath me. The opening that lights my cell is too narrow for me to pass through. Is there a fairly wide window at the place where you are now?"
 
"No, but it can be widened by removing the little stones round it."
 
"Capital. You will find in Maguennoc's workshop a bamboo ladder, with iron hooks to it, which you can easily bring with you to-morrow morning. Next, take some provisions and some rugs and leave them in a thicket²⁵ at the entrance to the tunnel."
 
"What for, darling?&qu............