Petitsou shrugged his shoulders in reply, as if to say, "He has been the only loser."
"Pray let me be compensated for my ill fortune, by learning all about you now, Citizen Petitsou."
"I have made more counterfeit money than any man in France now living, I might say more than any man who ever has lived, but I believe some one or two of the old kings have surpassed me," said Petitsou.
"He is an artist," whispered Tappeur; "he does not make you a clumsy, bungling coin only to be palmed off upon women and blind men. He creates an article finer to look at than the government mint can produce. Pardieu, I'd rather have a pocket full of his silver than that bearing either the face of Louis Capet or of this new Republic." And Tappeur looked at his friend the artist admiringly.
"It was when the government issued these assignats that my great fortune was made," continued Petitsou. "In fact, it was too much success that brought me here. I found them so easy to make that I manufactured them by the wholesale. I stored my cellar with them. I even had the audacity to make the government a small loan in assignats on which I did the entire work myself, reproducing the very signatures of the officials who received the funds. Oh, it was a rare sport."
"But your forgeries were finally detected?" said Gaillard inquiringly.
"The workmanship and the signatures never. I could have gone on making enough to buy up the whole government, but for a mishap. I made a glaring error in the date of a certain issue of assignats. I never liked the new calendar, and always had to take particular care to get it right, but one day my memory slipped up, and I dated a batch of one hundred thousand francs, November 14, 1793, instead of 25th Brumaire, year II. Oh, that was an unpardonable slip, and I deserved to pay the penalty."
"It seems cruel," remarked Gaillard, "to keep a useful member of society, like you, in this filthy dungeon."
"The greatest cruelty is in keeping the materials of my trade away from me. They know my love for my art, and take delight in torturing me. Although I promise not to try any dodge, they won't trust me. If they would only let me have a little pen, ink, and paper, I should be happy."
"Pen, ink, and paper?" repeated Gaillard. "That's a modest desire."