"Merci, Monsieur le Général!"
"Chouannerie?" said Ratoneau.
Simon grinned.
"Ah, monsieur, this is not enough to make me safe. I must have five thousand francs at least, to carry me away out of the Prefect's reach, if I tell his little secrets to Monsieur le Général."
"Five thousand devils! Do you think I am made of money? What do I want with your miserable secrets? What are the Chouans to me? The Prefect may be a Chouan himself, I dare say: stranger things have happened."
Simon shrugged his shoulders. His face was full of cunning and of secret knowledge.
"If Monsieur le Général wants a real hold over Monsieur le Préfet," he said, with his eyes fixed on Ratoneau's face—"why then, these secrets of mine are worth the money. Of course, there is another thing for me to do. I can go to Paris and lay the whole thing before the Minister of Police or Monsieur le Comte Réal. I had thought of that. But—the Government is generally ungrateful—and if there were any private service to be done for Monsieur le Général, I should like it better. Besides, it is just possible that I might be doing harm to some of your friends, monsieur."
"My friends? How?"
"Ah! voilà! I can mention no names," said Simon.
The General took out his pocket-book and gave him a note for a thousand francs.