Gradually the carter sold his wares in the smaller villages en route. They wisely avoided the larger towns. The cart was nearly empty now. Saleables had all been disposed of except a few apples. "How are you and I going to get into Paris?" said the distinguished young aristocrat, whose respect for the Reuben had increased daily. "Trust me!" said the other. His broad, moon-faced physiognomy masked the cunning of the fox. "I have this apple here--" The carter eyed his assistant intently and winked solemnly as if to say: "That will do the trick!" As they leave the open country behind and jog through the better settled regions immediately north of Paris, let us take our stand beside the "barrier" or outer gate which they are slowly approaching. Judge Forget-Not and his fellows are inspecting the barriers. The voice of the Chief is heard speaking. "Watch strictly that no aristocrats escape. Our new _law_ also condemns to death all who harbor an aristocrat." The Inquisitor's face assumes a yet harsher expression as he addresses the guards: "Beware lest you yourselves be suspect!--Remember the sharp female 'Guillotine'!" Forget-Not draws a significant hand across the throat. A shudder passes through the more timid folk. The coarse-faced guards applaud and promise to use the utmost precautions. The judges move on, inspecting another part of the barrier. CHAPTER XXII ADVENTURES OF A PILGRIM (CONTINUED) The farmer's cart nears the gate. The moon-faced Reuben is as impassive as ever. Though the tall assistant manages to keep his expression fairly immobile too, 'tis evident to us who know him that he labors under suppressed excitement. For the prize of his Great Quest is Henriette; the penalty of discovery and capture, Death! The gallant young man does not hesitate, however. He has never shrunk from Danger's bright face, least of all would he shrink now when the passing of a brief ordeal may well mean reunion with his beloved and her rescue from the welter of Paris. The Pilgrim's soul hungers and thirsts for her. After the great Sahara of imprisoned loneliness, how near the Oasis of love and rapture! How beautiful the prospect, if not indeed Mirage! The rustic's helper dismounts with the farmer at the gate, and follows him into the office of the registrar. The farmer presents a pass. "This is for one only," says the registrar at the gate, roughly. "The other cannot go through," he says, pointing to de Vaudrey, who tries to look as stupid and uncomprehending as possible. The farmer hands a big red apple to the functionary. But the latter makes a gesture of refusal. "Bite into it!" says the Rustic ingratiatingly. The official bites at the top which comes off--a smooth and even slice. The centre of the apple is hollow. Within it are several gold coins.