said I in English, "I
desire a bed and some food."

"Speak French," said he in English. "I speak no French," replied I in
French. Whereupon one of the idlers was summoned as interpreter. I
knew French enough to hear in the words that passed between him and mine
host the two expressions "spy" and "money," and I wished I had never
come into the place. But it was not easy to get out now without
confirming the suspicion, and I deemed it wise to appear indifferent.

"If monsieur can give me a bed, I will put up with him," said I to the
interpreter; "if not--"

"Citizen Picquot sees his money before he sells his wares," said the
other.

I laid a gold piece on the table. "Citizen Picquot is a wise man," said
I.

Then followed a cross-examination of me, prompted by the cautious
Picquot and interpreted by his ally.

"Who was I? Where did I come from? Why did I seek a lodging at his
house of all others? How long was I going to stay? What was my
occupation in Paris? How much more money had I got?" and so on.

To all of which I answered my best; and when I produced my letter to the
Depute Duport they treated me more ceremoniously. I was shown to a
room, the like of which for filth I had never slept in before, and shall
never, I hope, sleep in again. It was a large chamber, the boards of
which were furred with mildew, and the valance on the bed was dropping
off with rottenness. Generations of cats had haunted it and slept on
the coverlet. The dungeon at Brest was fresh and sweet compared to it.
Yet Citizen Picquot smilingly demanded two francs a night and the price
of my candle.

"Monsieur is safe here," said he, forgetting, as did I, that I knew no
French. "I had a guest, a week ago, who was found by the Guards and
taken before the Tribunal and guillotined. He would have been safe too,
but we had a difference about money, and I denounced him. It was only a
week ago. They will not search my house again for a month to come.
Monsieur will be quite safe; but if, alas, he perish (and who is quite
safe in these days?), I will myself protect his effects, and see his
letter to the depute duly forwarded."

All this was vastly consoling.

"Apropos," said I, "cannot I deliver my letter this evening?"

"This evening," said my host with a shrug; "it is death to approach a
depute a la Convention Nationale after the seance is closed. The last
who did it was Mademoiselle Corday, and she-- In the morning, monsieur,