Raoul nodded. “I know that one well, too. The old lady used to give great parties. She’s dead now, and her niece is prisoner there. I’d like to have a look at her!” The house of the Marquise du Ganne was gloomy and big and forbidding. At the wide entrance door they were challenged by a soldier in the uniform of the Republic, who called: “Who goes there? Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death!” Dian and Raoul answered: “Friends. Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death!” and went inside. In the center of a long hall some men in uniform sat writing at a table. Citizens of Paris, some rough and ragged, walked about, but, for the most part, the place was quiet. One of the men glanced up from his writing and, when he saw Dian, nodded and beckoned to him. Dian went over to the table, recognizing him as one of the men who had attended Soufflot’s supper. “Could you do me the favor of glancing at this, Shepherd? They say you know how to write and read well, and that”—the man peered up at Dian as he spoke—“that seems a passing strange thing for a shepherd.” “The evenings are long in the country districts, citizen. I have worked through them until late into the night to glean the little knowledge I possess. But what is it I can do for you?” Dian replied. “Just take a look at this notice I’ve written out and see if it’s readable to your eyes. Marat can’t do much more than write his name, so why should I care about doing any better?” As he spoke the official handed the sheet to Dian, who bent over it. “There are some words I could change for you, and with your permission I’ll do it,” Dian said. The man consented and Dian sat down at the table and, painstakingly and slowly, corrected the garbled writing. Then he read it out to the official, who nodded with approval. “You’ve done that well. You are clever, I see,” he commented, taking the paper from Dian and leaning back in his chair and yawning. Dian was silent for a minute. He wanted to ask if there was any possibility of going through the house, hoping to get a word with the comtesse as he went through. He did not know just how to word his request without arousing suspicion. Raoul helped him out. He ran up to the table just then. “Oh, citizen Parnette, do let us see the prisoner. Just one look is all I want,” he begged. Citizen Parnette frowned. What an impudent youngster this messenger boy of his friend, the market gardener, was, to be sure!