On the following morning, at 9 A.M., François went into the great hall to secure pistols and the fine Spanish rapier which Gamel had given him. Here he paused, and re-read the passport. A blank space had been left for the insertion of the special locality to which the bearer might wish to go in Normandy.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, "that must do. I will go to Musillon. Perhaps I shall find Despard. He will help me to recover that desirable papa." He went back to Gamel's room, and carefully completed the passport by inserting the name of the village Musillon.
After this he returned to the hall, talking to the poodle as he went. "Toto, thou art uneasy," he said; "and I too, my friend. Remember to howl no more at Jacobins. Thou art of the Left, a dog of the Left. Tiens! the bell." He caught up his rapier, and opened the door. A powerful, broad-shouldered man entered. He was clad in gray, and wore the red bonnet the extreme Jacobins affected, and which Robespierre so much despised.
"Ah, no one here. That is well. I trust Gamel has gone."
"Ah!" exclaimed François to himself. "'T is my confounded marquis. Now for ill luck."
"Is Monsieur Gamel at home? Monsieur Achille Gamel?" He emphasized the title.
François understood, with no great amazement, that this was the man of whom Gamel's letter spoke. He replied, "This way, please, monsieur."
The gentleman followed without a word.
"Read this," said François; "and, pardon me, but read it quickly. My head appears to me to be less securely attached to my body than common."
"Dame! You are as jolly as ever, my delightful thief."