The patriot paid his bill and went out. At the door his stentorian voice was heard,—
"Come, Citizen, quick! make haste with the pork cutlets; my cousin Gracchus is dying of hunger!"
"Mardoche is a good fellow," said the turnkey, tasting the wine poured out for him by the hostess, while she regarded him tenderly.
THE REGISTRAR OF THE MINISTER OF WAR.
The patriot left, but he had not gone far. Through the smoky panes he kept watch over the turnkey, to discover if he entered into conversation with any of the agents of the Republican police, one of the best that ever existed, since one half of society closely watched the other, less from the desire of promoting the great glory of the government than for the greater security of their own heads.
But nothing occurred of what the patriot feared. At a few minutes before nine the turnkey rose, chucked the hostess under the chin, and went out.
The patriot rejoined him at the quay of the Conciergerie, and they entered the prison together.