At a sign from Lardillon, André sat down. “Citizen deputy,” he said, “you are aware that for the last two years I have been conspiring against your friends, and that I am the author of the pamphlet entitled, _The Altars of Fear_. You will not be doing me a favour in having me arrested. You will only be doing your duty. Moreover, that is not the service I ask at your hands. But listen: my mistress, to whom I am devoted, is in prison.” Lardillon nodded his head to indicate that he approved of the devotion André confessed to. “I am sure that you are not unfeeling, Citizen Lardillon. I beg you to procure my reunion with the woman I love, and to have me conveyed to Port Libre as speedily as may be.” “Come, come,” said Lardillon, and a smile played upon his lips, which were both delicate and firm, “it is a greater boon than life that you demand of me. You require me to bestow happiness on you, citizen!” He stretched out the arm nearest to the bedroom, and called— “Epicharis! Epicharis!” A big, dark woman entered, her arms and throat still bare, for she had only got as far with her _toilette_ as a chemise and petticoat, though a cockade was fastened in her hair. “Nymph of mine,” said Lardillon as he drew her on to his knees, “look upon the face of this citizen, and never forget it! Like us, Epicharis, he is tender-hearted; like us, he realizes that the greatest of ills is to be separated from the beloved one. He wishes to go to prison—ay, to the guillotine—with his mistress, Epicharis. Can I withhold this boon from him?” “No!” answered the girl, as she tapped the cheeks of the carmagnole-clad monk. “You are right, my goddess. We shall be earning the gratitude of two devoted lovers. Citizen Germain, give me your address, and this very night you shall sleep in the Bourbe.” “That is agreed?” said André. “That is agreed,” replied Lardillon as he offered him his hand. “Go and find your fair friend, and tell her how you saw Epicharis in Lardillon’s embrace. I trust that that recollection may stir your hearts to joyous measures.” André replied that possibly they would be able to call up even more affecting memories, but that he was none the less grateful to Lardillon, and that he only regretted that it was not likely to be in his power to be of service to him in return. “A humane action needs no recompense,” replied Lardillon. Then he rose, and clasping Epicharis to his heart, said— “Who knows when our own turn may come?” _Omnes eodem cogimur: omnium Versatur urna; serius ocius Sors exitura, et nos in æternum Exilium impositura cymbæ._[22] “In the meanwhile, let us drink! Citizen, will you join us at table?” Epicharis said it would only be polite of him, and made to seize him by the arm. But he tore himself away, relying on the promise the deputy public prosecutor had made. ----- Footnote 22: