"That's as true, M'sieur Müller, as that God is in heaven," said the model, emphatically.
"Then I can prove it without your testimony--I can prove it by simply summoning any of the Toulon authorities to identify him."
"Or by stripping his shirt off his back, and showing the brand on his left shoulder," said Guichet. "There you'll find it, T.F. as large as life--and if it don't show at first, just you hit him a sharp blow with the flat of your hand, M'sieur Müller, and it will start out as red and fresh as if it had been done only six months ago. Parbleu! I remember the day he came in, and the look in his face when the hot iron hissed into his flesh! They roar like bulls, for the most part; but he never flinched or spoke. He just turned a shade paler under the tan, and that was all."
"Do you remember what his crime was?" asked Müller
Guichet shook his head.
"Not distinctly," he said. "I only know that he was in for a good deal, and had a lot of things proved against him on his trial. But you can find all that out for yourself, easily enough. He was tried in Paris, about fourteen years ago, and it's all in print, if you only know where to look for it."
"Then I'll find it, if I have to wade through half the Bibliothèque Nationale!" said Müller. "Adieu, Guichet--you have done me a great service, and you may be sure I will do nothing to betray you. Let us shake hands upon it."
The color rushed into the model's swarthy cheeks.
"Comment, M'sieur Müller!" he said, hesitatingly. "You offer to shake hands with me--after what I have told you?"
"Ten times more willing than before, mon ami," said Müller. "Did I not tell you just now that I respected you for having redeemed that past, and shall I not give my hand where I give my respect?"