"Thanks for your kind cares, sir," he said to the turnkey. "But for that brave man, I must have been killed. Where is he?"
"In the governor's room, telling him how the disturbance arose. It appears that but for him—"
"I must have been killed. Oh, tell me his name! Who is he?"
"His name I do not know, but they call him the Chourineur; he is an old offender."
"And is his crime now very serious?"
"Very; burglary in the night in an inhabited house," replied the turnkey. "He will probably have a similar dose to Pique-Vinaigre, fifteen or twenty years of hard labour."
Germain shuddered; he would have preferred being bound by gratitude to a man less criminal.
"How dreadful!" he said. "And yet this man without knowing me defended me; such courage, such generosity!"
"Ah, these men have sometimes a touch of good! The main point is that you are saved. To-morrow you will have your private cell, and to-night you will sleep in the infirmary. So, courage, sir. The bad time is over; and when your pretty little visitor comes to see you, you can comfort her, for once in a cell you have nothing to fear; only you will do wisely, I think, not to tell her of this affair."
"Certainly not; but I should like to thank my defender."