I laid a gold piece on the table. “Citizen Picquot is a wise man,” said I.
Then followed a cross-examination of me, prompted by the cautious Picquot and interpreted by his ally.
“Who was I? Where did I come from? Why did I seek a lodging at his house of all others? How long was I going to stay? What was my occupation in Paris? How much more money had I got?” and so on.
To all of which I answered my best; and when I produced my letter to the Deputé Duport they treated me more ceremoniously. I was shown to a room, the like of which for filth I had never slept in before, and shall never, I hope, sleep in again. It was a large chamber, the boards of which were furred with mildew, and the valance on the bed was dropping off with rottenness. Generations of cats had haunted it and slept on the coverlet. The dungeon at Brest was fresh and sweet compared to it. Yet Citizen Picquot smilingly demanded two francs a night and the price of my candle.
“Monsieur is safe here,” said he, forgetting, as did I, that I knew no French. “I had a guest, a week ago, who was found by the Guards and taken before the Tribunal and guillotined. He would have been safe too, but we had a difference about money, and I denounced him. It was only a week ago. They will not search my house again for a month to come. Monsieur will be quite safe; but if, alas, he perish (and who is quite safe in these days?), I will myself protect his effects, and see his letter to the depute duly forwarded.”
All this was vastly consoling.
“Apropos,” said I, “cannot I deliver my letter this evening?”
“This evening,” said my host with a shrug; “it is death to approach a deputé à la Convention Nationale after the séance is closed. The last who did it was Mademoiselle Corday, and she— In the morning, monsieur, when the Convention sits, you shall deliver your letter; till then, peace and sound repose.” And he bowed himself out.
I knew not much of the world, but I knew enough to wish myself out of this rat-trap. To try to escape just now would, I saw, be futile. Yet to spend the night there meant, if not murder, at least robbery and pestilence. A brave face was the only thing to put upon the business, and I followed Citizen Picquot downstairs and called for food and drink, in which I invited not him only but his gossips to join me.
I noticed that the door was carefully locked when any one came in or went out, and that any chance motion of mine in that direction was quickly intercepted. So the evening wore on, and presently the lights of the cabaret were extinguished, and my host passed me my candle and again bade me good-night.