“Of thee, nothing. Of Riouffe, enough to say that thou art not he.” “Explain, citizen!” growled a curt-spoken patriot, spitting on the ground for full-stop. “_Mes amis_,” cried the deplorable rogue. “Myself, I conveyed the Citizen Tithon Riouffe to Paris in company with the Englishman. The Englishman, within the fifteen days, returns alone. He breaks his journey here, as you know, to breakfast at the ‘Anchor.’ But, for Riouffe--I heard he was arrested.” Grace of God! here was a concatenation of mishaps--as luckless a _rencontre_ as Fate ever conceived of cruelty. My heart turned grey. The beastly triumphant faces of the guard swam in my vision like spectres of delirium. Nevertheless, I think, I preserved my reason sufficiently to assume a _sang froid_ that was rather of the nature of a fever. “The question is,” said I, coolly, “not as to whether this lout is a fool or a liar, but as to whether or no my papers are in order. You will please to observe by whom they are franked.” (I remembered, in a flash, the deadman’s statement.) “The name of the Citizen Deputy, who assured me a safe conduct _to_ Paris, being on this return passport, should be a sufficient guarantee that his good offices did not end with my arrival. I may have been arrested and I may have been released. It is not well, my friends, to pit the word of a horse-boy against that of a member of the Committee of Public Safety.” My high manner of assurance had its effect. The faces lowered into some expression of chagrin and perplexity. And then what must I do but spoil the effect of all by a childishly exuberant anti-climax. “I will grant,” said I, “that a change in the habit of one’s dress may confuse a keener headpiece than a jockey’s. What then! I arrive from England; I return from Paris--there is the explanation. Moreover, in these days of equality one must economise for the common good, and, rather than miss my return seat in the Englishman’s carriage and have to charter another, I follow in his track, when I find he is already started, in the hope to overtake him. And now you would delay us here while he stretches longer leagues between us!” Carinne gave a little soft whimper. The postilion capered where he stood. “_Mes amis!_” he cried, “he speaks well! It needs only to confront him with the Englishman to prove him an impostor.” _Misérable!_ What folly had I expressed! It had not been sufficiently flogged into my dull brain that the islander was here, now, in the village! I had obtusely fancied myself safe in claiming knowledge of him, while my secure policy was to have blustered out the situation as another and independent Riouffe. That course I had now made impossible. I could have driven my teeth through my tongue with vexation. Carinne touched my hand pitifully. It almost made my heart overflow. “Thus,” I said by-and-by to her, “the condemned forgives his executioner,” and--“Ah, little Thibaut,” she whispered, “but you do not know how big you looked.”