"Sometimes."
"Now—now?—this time?"
"Yes; I believe."
"I shall not forget thee."
François felt something like a chill between his shoulders. The Jacobin stepped aside after depositing an ample fee in the basket which Toto presented.
There was a murmur in the crowd. Several persons looked with curious eyes after the retreating man, and the conjurer heard some one say: "Tiens! C'est drôle. It is Robespierre." His was at this time not more than a well-known name. For a minute no one else came forward. François saw Pierre slip hastily into the tent; he knew not why. A gentleman came up gaily. He was dressed splendidly, with no regard for the leveling tastes of the day.
"The deuce!" he said quickly; "you are my thief!"
"De grâce, monsieur!" exclaimed François; "you will get me into trouble."
"Not I. Happy to meet you. I am myself fond of palmistry. Come, read me my hand."
François bent over the palm. He began aloud: "Ah, here have been many loves." Then his voice fell. "Monsieur is a good swordsman."