“This austerity,” he said--“this Bailly of the Municipality of the dead--I have purchased ye his favour with the one bribe to which he is susceptible. Kings might offer him their crowns; easy maids their honour. They should no more draw him from his reserve than Alexander drew Diogenes from his tub. But there is a _séductrice_ to his integrity, and the name of it is right Hollands. My faith! I would not swear _my_ fidelity to such a frowzy mistress; but taste is a matter of temperament. Is it not so, Jacques?” “While the keg lasts, I will hold the safety of thy friends in pawn to thee.” So replied the spectral figure--a voice, a phantom--the very enigma of this charnel city of echoes. The liqueur had revived and comforted me amazingly. I raised myself on my elbow. “Ah!” I cried, “if good intentions could find favour with thee, I would make thy keg a kilderkin, Citizen Gusman!” The figure stood mute, like a man of bronze. Crépin laughed recklessly. “He is the fast warden of these old catacombs,” he said--“the undying worm and sole master of their intricacies. Himself hath tunnelled them under the ground, I believe, like the tan-yard grub that bores into poplar-trees. Silence and secrecy are his familiars; but, I tell thee, monsieur, he will absorb Hollands till he drips with it as the roofs of his own quarries drip with water. The keg once drained, and--if thou renew’st it not--he will sell thee for a single measure of schnapps. Is it not so, Jacques?” “It is so,” said the figure, in a deep, indifferent voice. Crépin laughed again, then suddenly turned grave, and leaned down towards me. “Harkee, M. le Comte!” he said, “is thy pocket well lined?” “With good intentions, M. le Président.” He nodded and, fetching a little bag of skin out of his breast, forced it into my hand. “It is all I can spare,” he said; “and with that I must acquit my conscience of the matter.” “If ever I live to repay thee, good fellow----” “Ah, bah, monsieur! I owe thee for the Médoc. And now--escape if thou seest the way open. This strange creature will be thy bond-slave while the keg runs. Afterwards--_eh bien! C’est à toi la balle_. For food, thou must do as others here--take toll of the country carts as they journey to the barriers. They will not provide thee with sweetbreads in wine; but--well, monsieur, there are fifty ways, after all, of cooking a cabbage.” I rose, with difficulty, to my feet. Carinne, still seated on the floor, held her hand in mine. Something like a gentle quinsy in my throat embarrassed my speech. “Good citizen----” I muttered. Crépin made a gesture with his hand and backed in a hurry. “I desire no expression of gratitude,” he said loudly. “Good citizen,” I repeated, “thou wouldst not rebuke our selfishness by denying us, thy most faithful debtors, the privilege claimed by even a minor actor in this escapade?” “Of whom dost thou speak?” “Of a turnkey at St Pélagie’s.”