The Belgian gendarmes had not yet released him.
"Now, sir," said Cournet to the Custom House officer, "you are an Inspector of Customs, I am an Inspector of Railways. Inspectors do not eat inspectors. The deuce take it! Some worthy Belgians have taken fright and sent me to you between four gendarmes. Why, I know not. I am sent by the Northern Company to relay the ballast of a bridge somewhere about here which is not firm. I come to ask you to allow me to continue my road. Here is my pass."
He presented the pass to the Custom House officer, the Custom House officer read it, found it according to due form, and said to Cournet,—
"Mr. Inspector, you are free."
Cournet, delivered from the Belgian gendarmes by French authority, hastened to the railway station. He had friends there.
"Quick," he said, "it is dark, but it does not matter, it is even all the better. Find me some one who has been a smuggler, and who will help me to pass the frontier."
They brought him a small lad of eighteen; fair-haired, ruddy, hardy, a Walloon[35] and who spoke French.
"What is your name?" said Cournet.
"Henry."
"You look like a girl."