"Citoyen Dossonville, can you recall the Café Procopé about twenty years ago, and a certain Simon Lajoie who sometimes played a game of checkers with you in the evening, and who inspired you with a great deal of curiosity?" "Perfectly," Dossonville replied, staring at him in perplexity. "Do you remember that his visits ceased the day your interest prompted you to follow him from the café?" "What!" Dossonville cried, rising, and extending his hand in question. "It was--?" "It was I." "Tonnerre de Dieu!" And falling back, he stared in empty, stupid amazement. "Are you convinced?" "I am." "I hold your promise?" "Yes." Sanson readjusted his disguise, while Dossonville sought some pretext to retain him and make him talk. "Citoyen, one question." "Well, what?" "I should like to know," Dossonville said, "does the popular hatred affect you?" Sanson frowned, hesitated, and then answered in two words eloquent with meaning: "Not now." Then, without offering his hand, he turned, saying peremptorily: "Adieu!" Sans-Chagrin and Le Corbeau, who would not have allowed the devil himself to pass without an order, brought him back. Then Dossonville, springing to his feet, cried: "Set the Citoyen Clappier free! The Citoyen Clappier is an industrious patriot!" V CRAMOISIN PLOTS AGAINST NICOLE Cramoisin, since the day of his humiliation before Geneviève, had vented his spite on Barabant, seeking thus his vengeance on Nicole. Several times, in measure as the trial of the Girondins neared its end and it became evident that their condemnation was inevitable, he had sounded Javogues on the score of Barabant, only to be repulsed with decided negatives. But each defeat, by feeding fuel to his hatred, only increased his determination. Convinced, at length, that nothing could be accomplished for the present through Javogues, he had recourse to la Mère Corniche, hoping to find in her an ally. The shrewd little woman was not long in perceiving his intention. So having sufficiently enjoyed his timid skirmishes, she summoned him to her early one morning, after the distribution of bread, and said point-blank: "Out with it. What do you want to say to me?" The face of Cramoisin artfully showed surprise. "Come, old fellow, let us understand each other. You hate Barabant, eh?" "Barabant is a Girondin," Cramoisin ventured, and then, deceived by her mood, he plunged on: "He is a Moderate, a contre-Révolutionnaire. He is against Robespierre and the Jacobins." "Not a bit," la Mère Corniche interrupted, having now entrapped him. "He is a follower of the great Marat!" "Who are you telling that to!" Cramoisin cried contemptuously. "Hark, old fellow, no airs with me," the concierge retorted sharply. "The Citoyen Barabant came here with a letter to Marat. I saw it. As for you, I know what you're after, my fine patriot,--your eyes are on the girl!"