far, far away was the dull roar of distant artillery. I was out of Paris.
The thought of my sudden release quite overcame me. I fell on my knees and thanked God for my deliverance, which was so sudden and inexplicable as to seem almost supernatural. How could I ever have passed that line of "blood and iron"? What means could have been used. At any rate, Posela had kept his word. I was out of Paris and beyond the Prussian lines at last, and nothing remained between me and England but a train and steamer journey of a few hours.
As I was walking along the chaussée, still uncertain where I was, or where I ought to turn my footsteps, I suddenly noticed a man seated on one of the white stones that marked the border of the road. He was crouched down; but, even in the darkness, I thought I recognised Posela.
"Is it you, Posela?" I said.
"Yes."
"Well, I am greatly obliged to you for your successful fulfilment of your promise. But where are we? We are out of Paris, that is clear; but where are we?"
"At Pontoise. Do you not see the lights of
