"Imp of Satan," exclaimed Boivin, grinding his teeth, "I have never enjoyed ease or quietness since the first hour I saw you." "It may cost a couple of thousand francs, Boivin," said I, calmly; "but what then? Better that than take your seat along with us to-morrow in the 'Charrette rouge.'" "Maybe he's right, after all," muttered the turnkey in a half whisper; "speak to the commissary." "Yes," said I, affecting an air of great innocence and simplicity--"tell him that a poor orphan boy, without friends or home, claims his pity." "_Scelerat infame_!" cried Boivin, as he shook his fist at me, and then followed the turnkey to the commissary's apartment. In less time than I could have believed possible, Boivin returned with one of the upper jailors, and told me in a few dry words that I was free. "But, mark me," added he, "we part here--come what may, you never shall plant foot within my doors again." "Agreed," said I, gayly; "the world has other dupes as easy to play upon, and I was getting well nigh weary of you." "Listen to the scoundrel!" muttered Boivin; "what will he say next?" "Simply this," rejoined I--"that as these are not becoming garments for me to wear--for I'm neither 'Pere' nor 'Frere'--I must have others ere I quit this." If the insolence of my demand occasioned some surprise at first, a little cool persistence on my part showed that compliance would be the better policy; and, after conferring together for a few minutes, during which I heard the sound of money, the turnkey retired, and came back speedily with a jacket and cap belonging to one of the drummers of the "Republican Guard"--a gaudy, tasteless affair enough, but, as a disguise, nothing could have been more perfect. "Have you not a drum to give him?" said Boivin, with a most malignant sneer at my equipment. "He'll make a noise in the world without that!" muttered the jailor, half soliloquizing; and the words fell upon my heart with a strange significance. "Your blessing, Boivin," said I, "and we part." "_Te te--_" "No, no; don't curse the boy," interposed the jailor, good humoredly. "Then, move off, youngster; I've lost too much time with you already." The next moment I was in the "Place"--a light, misty rain was falling, and the night was dark and starless; the "_Scelerat_" was brilliant with lamps and candles, and crowds were passing in and out, but it was no longer a home for me--so I passed on, and continued my way toward the Boulevard. CHAPTER IV. "THE NIGHT OF THE NINTH THERMIDOR." I had agreed with the Pere Michel to rendezvous at the garden of the little chapel of St. Blois, and thitherward I now turned my steps.