This appeared very plausible to the registrar, and Dixmer immediately perceived that he was relenting.
"Rest assured," said he, "no one shall know anything. The devil! why surely sometimes a similar case to mine must present itself to your notice!"
"Very rarely; it is by no means a common occurrence. But, let me see; let us arrange it in another way."
"If it is possible, I should ask nothing better."
"Nothing is more possible. Enter by the door of the condemned; there a card is not required. Then, when you have spoken to your wife, call me, and I will let you out."
"Not a bad idea," said Dixmer; "but unfortunately there is a story current in the city."
"What story?"
"The history of a poor hunchback who mistook the door, thinking to enter the archives, but instead of so doing found himself in the hall of which we are now speaking. Only since he had entered by the door of the condemned instead of the large door, as he had no pass to prove his identity, once there he was not permitted to go out. They strenuously maintained that since he entered the door with the other condemned, he was condemned likewise. In vain he protested, swore, appealed; no one believed him, no one came to his assistance, no one helped him to get out. So that, notwithstanding his protestations, his oaths, and supplications, the executioner first cut off his hair, and afterward his head. Is this anecdote true, Citizen Registrar! You ought to know better than any one else."
"Alas! yes; it is too true," said the registrar, trembling.
"You must see then that with such a precedent I should be a fool to enter this cut-throat place without a pass."