ur I saw you.'

'It may cost a couple of thousand francs, Boivin,' said I calmly; 'but
what then? Better that than take your seat along with us to-morrow in
the _Charrette Rouge_.'

'Maybe he's right, after all,' muttered the turnkey in a half-whisper;
'speak to the commissary.'

'Yes,' said I, affecting an air of great innocence and simplicity--'tell
him that a poor orphan boy, without friends or home, claims his pity.'

'_Scelerat infame!_' cried Boivin, as he shook his fist at me, and then
followed the turnkey to the commissary's apartment.

In less time than I could have believed possible, Boivin returned with
one of the upper gaolers, and told me, in a few dry words, that I was
free. 'But, mark me,' added he, 'we part here--come what may, you never
shall plant foot within my doors again.'

'Agreed,' said I gaily; 'the world has other dupes as easy to play upon,
and I was getting well nigh weary of you.'

'Listen to the scoundrel!' muttered Boivin; 'what will he say next?'

'Simply this,' rejoined I--'that as these are not becoming garments for
me to wear--for I'm neither _pere_ nor _frere_--I must have others ere I
quit this.'

If the insolence of my demand occasioned some surprise at first, a
little cool persistence on my part showed that compliance would be the
better policy; and, after conferring together for a few minutes, during
which I heard the sound of money, the turnkey retired, and came back
speedily with a jacket and cap belonging to one of the drummers of the
Republican Guard--a gaudy, tasteless affair enough, but, as a disguise,
nothing could have been more perfect.

'Have you not a drum to give him?' said Boivin, with a most malignant
sneer at my equipment.

'He 'll make a noise in the world without that,' muttered the gaoler,
half soliloquising; and the words fell upon my heart with a strange
significance.

'Your blessing, Boivin,' said I, 'and we part.' '_Le te_----'

'No, no; don't curse the boy,' interposed the gaoler good-humouredly.

'Then, move off, youngster; I've lost too much time with you already.'

The next moment I was in the Place; a light misty rain was falling, and
the night was dark and starless. The 'Scelerat' was brilliant with lamps
and candles, and crowds were passing in and out; but it was no longer a
home for me, so I passed on, and continued my way towards the Boulevard.

CHAPTER IV. 'THE NIGHT OF THE NINTH THERMIDOR'

I had agreed with the Pere Michel