‘Listen to the scoundrel!’ muttered Boivin; ‘what will he say next?’
‘Simply this,’ rejoined I—‘that as these are not becoming garments for me to wear—for I’m neither père nor frère—I must have others ere I quit this.’
If the insolence of my demand occasioned some surprise at first, a little cool persistence on my part showed that compliance would be the better policy; and, after conferring together for a few minutes, during which I heard the sound of money, the turnkey retired, and came back speedily with a jacket and cap belonging to one of the drummers of the Republican Guard—a gaudy, tasteless affair enough, but, as a disguise, nothing could have been more perfect.
‘Have you not a drum to give him?’ said Boivin, with a most malignant sneer at my equipment.
‘He ‘ll make a noise in the world without that,’ muttered the gaoler, half soliloquising; and the words fell upon my heart with a strange significance.
‘Your blessing, Boivin,’ said I, ‘and we part.’ ‘Le te——’
‘No, no; don’t curse the boy,’ interposed the gaoler good-humouredly.
‘Then, move off, youngster; I’ve lost too much time with you already.’
The next moment I was in the Place; a light misty rain was falling, and the night was dark and starless. The ‘Scélérat’ was brilliant with lamps and candles, and crowds were passing in and out; but it was no longer a home for me, so I passed on, and continued my way towards the Boulevard.