"Hold thy tongue! Search him."
"Ma foi, marquis," said the thief, later, "they did it well. They even chopped up the heels of my shoes. And my coat! Sacre! The good keeper gave me another. In our cell, as I learned, they went through the beds and Heaven knows what else. I was well pleased, I can tell thee, when it was all over."
The commissioner had now cooled down. "Put on thy clothes," said Grégoire, and himself shut the door. It was François's turn.
"Citizen," he said, "didst thou think me fool enough to leave within reach that little letter of thine to the good citizen of the committee—to—ah, yes, La Vicomterie is his name. I am not an émigré, only a poor devil of a thief and a juggler. I do not love Citizen Robespierre any better than some others love him—some I could name. But one must live, and the day I go out to thy infernal tribunal, Robespierre will have thy letter. A friend will go himself and lay it before the committee."
Grégoire grew deadly pale, all but the wart, which remained red. "I am betrayed!"
"Wait a little. Thou art not quite lost, but thou wilt be unless—"
"Unless what?"
"Unless thou wilt open that door and set me free. I have no grudge against thee. I will arrange to have for thee the letter, and must receive from thee a new carte de sûreté, and a good passport on business of the Committee of Safety."
The commissioner was partly sobered. "How shall I know that thou wilt keep thy word?"
"Thou wilt not know until I do. Why should I not?"