"A fork! What for?" He had a lad's curiosity.
"To eat with."
"But there is nothing to eat."
"Quite true. But it assists one's imagination; and, after all, there may be to-morrow, and to eat with decency a fork is needed. A citizen may use his bare paws, but a monsieur may not use the fingers of equality. Thou wilt observe how the thought of these tools of luxury reminds one of messieurs and the like."
The lad—he was hardly over twenty—laughed merrily. "Thou art a delightful companion. Gamel—thou didst say Gamel?"
"I did, monsieur. Gamel that was the master of arms in the Rue St. Honoré."
"My poor brother used to fence there. By St. Denis! thou must be François!"
"I am."
"Then thou shalt have the tool of luxury. But, good heavens! take care. Thou hast a tongue which—well, I have learned to bridle mine."
"My tongue never got me into trouble; like my legs, it is long, and, like them, it has got me out of a good many scrapes. I thank thee for the warning. One knows whom to talk to. I can be silent. Oh, you may laugh. I did not speak for a day after I first saw that juggler's tool, the guillotine, in the sun on the Place de la Révolution. Dieu! behold there is a man that talks and laughs; and, presto, pass! there is eternal silence."