“And this tool—and the rapiotage!”
“Listen then! The thief that follows a thief finds little by the road. We are under no obligation to search a prisoner remanded from another prison.”
Impulsively I wrung the hand of the dear sententious; I looked into his eyes.
“The Goddess of Reason disown thee!” I said. “Thou shalt never be acolyte to a harlot!—And I—if all goes well, I will remember. And what is thy name, good fellow?”
“M. un tel,” said he, and added, “Bah! shall not thy ignorance of it be in a measure our safeguard?”
“True,” said I. “And take me away, then. I cannot get to work too soon.”
He opened the door, peeped out, and beckoned me.
“All is well,” he whispered. “The coast is clear.”[1]
As he drove me with harsh gestures across a yard, a turnkey, standing at a door and twirling a toothpick in his mouth, hailed him strenuously.
“What perquisites, then, comrade?”