“Not him! He’s deep in talking, talking all the time, going to section meetings, and quarreling with everybody. Tortot the baker won’t speak to him or to the seed shopman. He’s just about distracted since they broke down his shop and played such havoc with his goods. He hasn’t dared to open up the shop since because of the mob.” Raoul raised his head from the pillow and spoke confidentially to Dian. “He doesn’t say anything about the boy that disappeared from the shop that night. He knows he’d get himself into a good measure of trouble over hiding an aristocrat that way. They’d say in the convention he was trying to help him get away, instead of holding him until the right time to get rid of him. Oh, you can wager he’ll keep still enough about that. I don’t care what they do. I’m going to stay home when once I get there. I hate this old place and everybody here but you!” At this last remark Raoul became so upset that he threw the pillow to the other end of the room. He seemed to feel better after he had done so, for he grinned at Dian. The door opened just then and the market gardener came in, a prosperous-looking, red-faced man in grey breeches and dark-brown waistcoat decorated with the tri-colored rosette. “A fine boy, a fine boy. He would do well to eat only black bread and garlic for a time. He’s been living too high, that’s what’s the matter with him!” he exclaimed in his bluff way, standing over the cot and looking good-naturedly down at Raoul. Dian stood, and, leaning over, laid his hands on Raoul’s shoulder. “I will see you again before very long, perhaps at your home in the country that you love. Sometime I will show you my flock of sheep, and you will meet the little Jean of whom I have told you,” he said. Then he turned to the market gardener. “I know a boy who will drive your cart to-morrow, if you like. He lives in a cellar, and is in dire straits. He will be only too glad of earning even a few coins, for he has a journey before him, and a mother and sisters dependent upon him. I’d like to do him the good turn.” Now Dian was a prime favorite with the market gardener, who was constantly wrangling with the men he knew in the city, though he cared not a fig for any of them except the seed shopman. He admired Dian’s bulk and his free, fearless ways. “There’s a man for you,” he would say. “There’s a man of France, with a broad back and broad ways. There’s a man!” He greeted Dian’s suggestion cordially. “Bring on your boy. I want one I can trust, and these Paris brats are as sly as their fathers. I, for one, will be glad to get away from the whole dirty, quarrelsome lot of them,” he said. There was an answering mutter of agreement from the bed. “He is a friend of the little Vivi, and a worthy lad. Where will I find the cart? I will myself see that the lad is started in good time and order,” said Dian.