As General Duroc addressed a few words in a low tone to the commissaire, the man called Bocquin approached the bench, and handed up a small slip of paper to Duchesne. The chevalier opened it, and having thrown his eyes over it, passed it into my hand. All I could see were two words, written coarsely with the pencil,—“How much?”
The chevalier turned the back of the paper, and wrote, “Fifty napoleons.”
On reading which the large man tore the scrap, and nodding slightly with his head, sauntered from the room. We rose a few moments after, and having taken a formal leave of the general and the commissaire, proceeded towards the street, where we had left our horses. As we passed along the corridor, however, we found Bocquin awaiting us. He opened a door into a small, mean-looking apartment, of which he appeared the owner. Having ushered us in, and cautiously closed it behind him, he drew from his pocket a piece of cloth, to which a button and a piece of gold embroidery were attached.
“Your jacket would be spoiled without this morsel, Captain,” said he, laughing, in a low, dry laugh.
“So it would, Bocquin,” said Duchesne, examining his coat, which I now perceived was torn on the shoulder, and a small piece—the exact one in his hand—wanting, but which had escaped my attention from the mass of gold lace and embroidery with which it was covered.
“Do you know, Bocquin,” said Duchesne, in a tone much graver than he had used before, “I never noticed that?”
“Parbleu! I believe you,” said he, laughing; “nor did I, till you sat on the bench, when I was so pleased with your coolness, I could not for the life of me interrupt you.”
“Have you got any money, Burke?” said the chevalier; “some twenty gold pieces—”
“No, no, Captain,” said Bocquin, “not now; another time. I must call upon you one of these mornings about another affair, and it will be time enough then.”
“As you please, Bocquin,” said the chevalier, putting up his purse again; “and so, till we meet.”