"Willingly, willingly," cried the young man, who now saw that money would do much in a jail, as well as elsewhere. "Can I have a cell to myself?"
"To be sure. There is plenty of room," replied the jailer. "If you choose to pay the dues for two other barons, you can have the space they would occupy."
Jean Charost consented to every thing that was demanded; the fees were taken by the jailer; the rest of the money found upon him was registered by the man in black, who seemed a mere automaton; and then he was led away by the valet of the jail to a small room not very far distant. On the way, and for a minute or two after his arrival in the cell, the valet continued to give him rapid but clear information concerning the habits and rules of the place. He found that, if he attempted to escape, the law would hold him guilty of whatever crime he was charged with; that he could neither have writing materials, nor communicate with any friend without an application to one of the judges at the Châtelet; that all the law allowed a prisoner was bread and water, and, in the end, that every thing could be procured by money--except liberty.
Jean Charost hesitated not then to demand all he required, and the valet, on returning to the jailer, after having thrice-locked and thrice-bolted the door, informed his master that the young prisoner was a "good orange," which probably meant that he was easily sucked.
CHAPTER XXVII.
Do you recollect visiting the booth of a cutler? In that very booth, the day after the arrest of Jean Charost, might be seen the intelligent countenance of the deformed boy, Petit Jean, peering over the large board on which the wares were exposed, and saluting the passers-by with an arch smile, to which was generally added an invitation to buy some of the articles of his father's manufacture. The race gamin; is of very ancient date in the city of Paris, where witty and mischievous imps are found to have existed in great abundance as far as recorded history can carry us. It must be owned, too, that a touch of the gamin; was to be found in poor Petit Jean, although his corporeal infirmities prevented him from displaying his genius in many of the active quips and cranks in which other boys of his own age indulged. On the present occasion, when he was eager to sell the goods committed to his charge, he refrained, as far as possible, from any of his sharp jests, so long as there was any chance of gaining the good-will of a passing customer, and the gamin; spirit fumed off in a metaphor: but a surly reply, or cold inattention, generally drew from him some tingling jest, which might have procured him a drubbing had not his infirmities proved a safeguard.
"What do you lack, Messire Behue?" he cried, as a good fat currier rolled past the booth. "Sure, with such custom as you have, your knives must be all worn out. Here, buy one of these. They are so sharp, it would save you a crown a day in time, and your customers would not have to wait like a crowd at a morality."
The good-natured currier paused, and bargained for a knife, for flattery will sometimes soften even well-tanned hides; and Petit Jean, contented with his success, assailed a thin, pale, sanctimonious-looking man who came after, in much the same manner.
But this personage scowled at him, saying, "No, no, boy. No more knives from your stall. The last I bought bent double before two days were over."
"That's the fault of your cheese, Peter Guimp," answered the boy, sharply. "It served Don Joachim, the canon of St. Laurent, worse than it served our knife, for it broke all the teeth out of his head. Ask him if it didn't."