"No; to-morrow," replied Dixmer.
He then rose, and having again looked and listened, closed the registers, and approaching the wicket, knocked at the door.
"What now?" said Gilbert.
"Citizen," said he, "I am going."
"Well," said the gendarme, from the end of the cell, "good-night."
"Good-night, Citizen Gilbert."
Durand heard the grinding of the bolts, and knew that the gendarme was opening the door. He went out.
In the passage leading from the apartment of Father Richard to the court, he jostled against a turnkey dressed in a bear-skin bonnet, and dangling a heavy bunch of keys.
Dixmer was much alarmed. Perhaps this man, brutal as the generality of his species, was about to interrogate him, to watch him, and perhaps to recognize him. He drew his hat over his eyes, while Geneviève concealed herself, as she best could, in the folds of her cloak. But he was mistaken.