"Sangdieu!" rose again the voice of Cramoisin, who, farther down, had halted at the side of a woman. "The herring is rotten. Do you not see it? Come, you must complain." "It is all I need," came the faint answer. "I am not hungry." "Bah, you aristocrats, you haven't the courage of dogs!" He returned to another: "And you, young man, they treat you badly, eh? Shall I complain to Fouquier?" The youth, who had imprudently met his eye, instantly dropped his head; but Cramoisin, amid the jeers of the turnkeys, with a pretense of listening for his answer, exclaimed: "What's that you say? Robespierre is a scoundrel?" "I said nothing!" "Then you thought it, and thoughts are offenses!" Arrived opposite Barabant, he planted himself with folded arms and cried: "Well, Citoyen Barabant, the food's good, eh?" Pushing back his plate, Barabant likewise folded his arms and answered with a sneer: "Do you think so?" "To me it is delicious!" "That's not astonishing,--it's the food of swine!" A murmur rumbled over the hall, rising to weak cries of protests: "No." "He slanders it." "We don't think so, citoyen." Others implored Barabant to be silent, trembling at his rash speech, that would suffice to empty the prison. Under pretense of upbraiding him, they surrounded him, beseeching him to have a thought of their danger. Yielding to their terror, Barabant remained silent; but when, after the meal, they had dispersed to their rooms, he exclaimed: "Ah, that did me good! I feel I am a man again. Nicole, to-night I shall sleep soundly for the first time in months, knowing that after to-morrow I may sleep more soundly." Waiting barely long enough to assure herself of his unconsciousness, Nicole withdrew from his side and stole down the corridor, seeking until she found under a door a slit of light. At her soft entrance Cramoisin started up in alarm from the desk where he had been preparing his list, and placed the chair between them. "I am not come to harm you," she said disdainfully. Still for a moment he eyed her in doubt, before he was reassured. He grumbled: "What do you want?" From where she was she could see the list, and at its head the one name she dreaded to find. "Read, if you wish," he said indifferently. "It will give you pleasure." There were ten names in all, Barabant's being the first, and hers was not of the number. "I have something to ask of you." "Ask." "I do not ask that we be sent to the guillotine together," she said, planning cunningly to avoid one danger. "That would be too great a consolation for you to accord us. Exchange my name for Barabant's." "Nini," he said, watching her with covetous, blinking eyes. "I don't intend to let you go." "If you will send me instead," she cried; "if you swear it, swear to spare him, I will give you a secret that will earn you the gratitude of Fouquier." "You are too pretty," he said, with a smirk; "when one is as pretty as that, one is a patriot." "You will not accept?"