Beausire bowed.
"If you do this," continued the Royalist plotter, "you will not only be delivered and pardoned, but still further, when I proclaim that the success of the outbreak is due to you, you can shake hands with yourself beforehand on the great reward you will earn."
"I am not going to do the deed for anything like lucre," said the adventurer, with the most disinterested of manners.
"We all know that," rejoined the friend; "but when the reward comes along, I advise you not to refuse it."
"Oh, if you think I ought to take it—" faltered the gambler.
"I press you to, and if I had any power over you, I should order you," resumed the companion, majestically.
"I give in," said Beausire.
"Well, to-morrow we will breakfast together, for the governor of the jail will not refuse this favor to two old 'pals,' and we will crack a jolly good bottle of the rosy to the success of this plot."
Though Beausire may have had his doubts on the kindness of prison governors, the request was granted, to his great satisfaction. It was not one bottle they drained, but several. At the fourth, Beausire was a red-hot Royalist. Luckily, the warders came to take him to the Strand before he emptied the fifth. He stepped into the cart as into a triumphal chariot, disdainfully surveying the throng for whom he was storing up such a startling surprise.
On Notre Dame Bridge, a woman and a little boy were waiting for him to come along. He recognized poor Oliva, in tears, and young Toussaint, who, on beholding his father among the soldiers, said: