“Let us sit down on this stone bench and talk,” said Sans-Souci; “this is my comrade, a fine fellow——”
“He has some scars and a bit of ribbon which say enough.—Can I help you in any way, messieurs?”
“Yes, we have come on important business—we want to see a prisoner. You know, that Edouard Murville, whom you mentioned to me the last time I saw you; well, my comrade is his brother.”
“You are his brother?” said the messenger, looking at Jacques with compassion. “I am sorry for you.”
“I am not the one to be sorry for,” said Jacques; “he is the one, since he is unfortunate; for he has not been guilty of any dishonorable act, I trust?”
“What have you come here for?” said the messenger, without answering Jacques’s question.
“Morbleu! we have come to see my brother; his wife and child have been here already to console him.”
“No woman has been here to see him, I assure you; in fact, no woman has attempted to see him.”
“Is it possible?”
“It would be useless now to try to see him, for—he is no longer at the Conciergerie.”