"One does not enter here, citizeness. Go around to the main entrance on the Quai."
"It is so far," she demurred pleadingly. "I have been doing my work here in the tribunal chambers, and now wish to have a few words of conversation with the turnkey Privat."
"Who are you?"
"I—I am Jeanne Privat, his sister."
"Well—such being the case, I will let you come through, but you must be sure to come out this way, citizeness. If you were seen going out of the lower entrance, not having entered there, it might get both of us in trouble. And you might lose your place as well as I."
As he spoke he opened the lower half of an iron wicket. "Duck your head a little, citizeness, and enter quickly."
Edmé did not need a second bidding; the gate closed with a snap, and she was inside the conciergerie.
"Privat is in the second corridor. Go to the right and then turn to the left," said the warder. "There he is now, just at the corner," he added hastily. "Hey, Privat," and he gave a prolonged, low whistle, "here is your sister, come to see you."
François Privat was slow of speech as well as of brain, so he merely stood gaping with amazement at sight of the young woman who claimed him as a brother, and who bore not the slightest resemblance to his sister Jeanne. Edmé stepped quickly forward toward the turnkey, saying in a low voice as she approached him:—
"I bring a message from your sister; the good sentry should have told you." Then in the same breath, she went on hurriedly to say: "The poor woman was taken quite ill this afternoon, so ill that she had to be put to bed. I came to do her work in the tribunal chambers, but thought you should be told of your sister's illness, so asked the sentry to let me speak to you."