It Is Never Too Late to Mend by Charles Reade
Josephs was crouched shivering under the door of his cell, listening.
"All right now. I think they are all asleep; now is the time."
Hawes, Hodges, Jones, Fry, were snoring without a thought of him they had left to pass the live-long night, clothed in a sponge, cradled on a stone.
DORMEZ, MESSIEURS! TOUT EST TRANQUILLE; DORMEZ!