"No, but a blockhead; a lamb, however, compared to the jailers of other prisons."
Clarisse thus presented Olivier: "My son—Madame la Marquise de Choiseul."
Olivier bowed courteously, and as Madame de Choiseul, struck by the distinguished air of the young workman, held out her hand, Olivier took it in his and kissed it. In this high-born company all the grace of his early education came back to him.
The marquise smiled and turned to Clarisse.
"Behold a son who betrays his mother! Your name is not Durand. You belong to us. I had thought as much."
And as Clarisse was about to reply, she added: "Hush! I am not asking your secrets."
She then assured the young man that his mother was right: the concierge Haly, though rough, was rather kind than otherwise, letting visitors enter, and even bring in provisions, sweets, and linen.
"And above all," she added, "he does us the great favour of letting us walk about and disport ourselves here until night time."
She then pointed out to Olivier the various games in which the men and children took part.
"As you see," she added, "they take full advantage of the permission."