“It is plain to read, citizen.”
“For a mincing aristocrat, yes. But, for us—we read only between the lines.”
“Read on them, then, the names of Citizen Tithon Riouffe and wife.”
The indolent postilion spat the string from his lips, looked up suddenly, and came swiftly to the barrier.
“How?” said he, “what name?”
I repeated the words, with a little quaver in my voice. The man cockt his head evilly, his eyes gone into slits.
“Oh, le bon Dieu!” he cried, in acrid tones, “but the assurance of this ragged juggler!”
Carinne caught nervously at my hand.
“I do not understand the citizen,” said I, in my truculent voice.
“But I think, yes.”