ly as
ever I had done in my bed at night. I was dreaming of the dark alleys in
the wood of Belleville, where so often I had strolled of an evening with
Pere Michel: I was fancying that we were gathering the fresh violets
beneath the old trees, when a rude hand shook my shoulder, and I awoke.
One of the turnkeys and Boivin stood over me, and I saw at once that my
plan had worked well.

'Is this the fellow?' said the turnkey, pushing me rudely with his foot.

'Yes,' replied Boivin, white with fear; 'this is the boy; his name
is Tristan.' The latter words were accompanied with a look of great
significance towards me.

'What care we how he is called! let us hear in what manner he came
here.'

'I can tell you little,' said I, staring and looking wildly around; 'I
must have been asleep, and dreaming, too.'

'The letter,' whispered Boivin to the turnkey--'the letter says that he
was made to inhale some poisonous drug, and that while insensible----'

'Bah,' said the other derisively, 'this will not gain credit here; there
has been complicity in the affair, Master Boivin. The commissaire is not
the man to believe a trumped-up tale of the sort; besides, you are
well aware that you are responsible for these "rats" of yours. It is a
private arrangement between you and the commissaire, and it is not very
probable that he'll get himself into a scrape for you.'

'Then what are we to do?' cried Boivin passionately, as he wrung his
hands in despair.

'I know what I should, in a like case,' was the dry reply.

'And that is?-----'

'_Laisser aller!_ was the curt rejoinder. 'The young rogue has passed
for a cure for the last afternoon; I'd even let him keep up the disguise
a little longer, and it will be all the same by this time to-morrow.'

'You'd send me to the guillotine for another?' said I boldly; 'thanks
for the good intention, my friend; but Boivin knows better than to
follow your counsel. Hear me one moment,' said I, addressing the latter,
and drawing him to one side--'if you don't liberate me within a quarter
of an hour, I'll denounce you and yours to the commissary. I know well
enough what goes on at the "Scelerat,"--you understand me well. If
a priest has really made his escape from the prison, you are not
clean-handed enough to meet the accusation; see to it then, Boivin, that
I may be free at once.'

'Imp of Satan,' exclaimed Boivin, grinding his teeth, 'I have never
enjoyed ease or quietness since the first ho