He, next, tried to clamber up the flying buttresses and soffits of the pier, in the hope of reaching some of the windows and other apertures with which, as a man-of-war is studded with port-holes, the sides of the bridge were pierced. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. The room in which this interview took place had a sordid and miserable look. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. Yet she took with her an uneasy consciousness that in this affair might lie the germs of future trouble. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear.
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