have no confidence in a man who disguises himself with a nose like that when it is not carnival time. In the first place, he will not fight."
"Why won't he fight?"
"Because he looks to me like a great coward."
"Yes, but suppose he does fight?"
"If he fights, there is nothing more to say; you risk only a ball or a sword-thrust. But if he doesn't, you risk having your head cut off, and that is what I wish to prevent."
"How?"
"By taking you with me to the barracks of the volunteers of Paris: he won't come after you there, I warrant."
"Hide? Never."
"Tush! My little friend," said the sergeant-major, "don't say such things before Pierre Augereau, whose courage cannot be questioned. No, you will not hide, you will simply wait there. That's all."
"What shall I wait for?"
"Citizen Tétrell's seconds."
"His seconds? He will send them here, and I won't know that they have come, since I won't be here."
"And little Charles? He runs no danger, and what was he put on earth for except to bring us word of what happens? Heavens! what a hard customer you are, and what difficulties you put in a fellow's way."
"And the first thing that happens, no matter how insignificant, you will come to the barracks and tell us, won't you, Charles?"
"I give you my word of honor."
"And now," said Augereau, "to the left!"
"Where are we going?"
"To the barracks."
"Through the court?"
"Through the court."
"And why not by the door?"
"Because if we go by the door some curious fellow might be watching, who would follow us just for fun, to see where we were going; while if we go by the court, I know of a certain little gate that leads to a lane where nothing passes, not even a cat. From lane to lane we will reach the barracks, and no one will know where the turkeys perch."
"You will remember your promise, Charles?"
"Although I am two years younger than you, Eugene, my honor is as good as yours; and, besides, the experiences of to-day have made me feel as old as you. Good-by and sleep well; Augereau will take care of your person and I of your honor."
The two boys clasped hands; and the sergeant-major almost broke Charles's fingers, he shook them so hard; then he drew Eugene out into the court, while Charles, with a slight grimace of pain, tried to separate his fingers. This operation finished, he took his candle and the key to his room as usual, and went upstairs.
But scarcely was he in bed before Madame Teutch entered on tiptoe, making signs to him that she had something important to tell him. The boy understood Madame Teutch's mysterious ways well enough by this time not to be surprised at seeing her, even at this unheard-of hour. She approached his bed, murmuring: "Poor little cherub!"
"Well, citizeness Teutch," asked Charles, laughing, "what is it this time?"
"I must tell you what has happened, even at the risk of alarming you."
"When?"
"While you were at the play."
"Did anything happen then?"
"I should think so! We had a visit."
"From whom?"
"The men who came here before about Ballu and Dumont."
"Well, I suppose they did not find them this time either."
"They did not come for them, my pet."
"For whom did they come, then?"
"They came for you."
"For me? And to what do I owe the honor of their visit?"
"It seems that they are looking for the author of that little note."
"In which I told them to get away as soon as possible?"
"Yes."
"Well?"
"Well, they visited your room, and searched through all your papers."
"That does not alarm me. They found nothing against the Republic."
"No, but they found one act of a tragedy."
"Ah! my tragedy of 'Théramène.'"
"They took it with them."
"The wretches! Fortunately I know it by heart."
"But do you know why they took it with them?"
"Because they found the verses to their taste, I presume."
"No, because they saw that the writing in the note was the same as that of the manuscript."
"Ah! this is getting serious."
"You know the law, my poor child; any one who gives shelter to a suspect, or helps him to escape—"
"Yes; it means death."
"Just hear the poor little fellow; he says that as he would, 'Yes, bread and jam.'"
"I say it thus, dear Madame Teutch, because it cannot possibly affect me."
"What can't affect you?"
"The death penalty."
"Why can't it affect you?"
"Because one must be sixteen years old to aspire to the honor of the guillotine."
"Are you sure, my poor child?"
"I have taken care to inform myself on the point. Besides, yesterday I read on the walls a new decree of citizen Saint-Just, forbidding the execution of any judgment until the account of the trial has been communicated to him, and he has questioned the convicted person. However—"
"What?" asked Madame Teutch.
"Wait. Here, give me some paper, and a pen and ink."
Charles took up a pen, and wrote:
Citizen Saint-Just, I have just been illegally arrested, and, having faith in your justice, I demand to be brought before you.
And he signed it.
"There, Madame Teutch," said he. "It is well to foresee every emergency in these times.
