"It must be alone," said I.
"How so, alone, sirrah?" said he, growing suddenly pale; "I have no secrets—I know of nothing that may not be told before all the world."
Though he said this in a kind of appeal to all around, the dubious looks and glances interchanged seemed to make him far from comfortable.
"So you refuse me, then," said I, taking up my cap, and preparing to depart.
"Come hither," said he, leading the way into the room from which he had emerged. It was a very small chamber; the most conspicuous ornaments of which were busts and pictures of the various celebrities of the revolution. Some of these latter were framed ostentatiously, and one, occupying the post of honor above the chimney, at once attracted me, for in a glance I saw that it was a portrait of him who owned the pocket-book, and bore beneath it the name "Robespierre."
"Now, sir, for your communication," said Boivin; "and take care that it is of sufficient importance to warrant the interview you have asked for."
"I have no fears on that score," said I, calmly, still scanning the features of the portrait, and satisfying myself of their identity.
"Look at me, sir, and not at that picture," said Boivin.
"And yet it is of M. Robespierre I have to speak," said I, coolly.
"How so—of M. Robespierre, boy? What is the meaning of this? If it be a snare—if this be a trick, you never leave this spot living," cried he, as he placed a massive hand on each of my shoulders, and shook me violently.