"Well--such being the case, I will let you come through, but you must be sure to come out this way, citizeness. If you were seen going out of the lower entrance, not having entered there, it might get both of us in trouble. And you might lose your place as well as I." As he spoke he opened the lower half of an iron wicket. "Duck your head a little, citizeness, and enter quickly." Edmé did not need a second bidding; the gate closed with a snap, and she was inside the conciergerie. "Privat is in the second corridor. Go to the right and then turn to the left," said the warder. "There he is now, just at the corner," he added hastily. "Hey, Privat," and he gave a prolonged, low whistle, "here is your sister, come to see you." François Privat was slow of speech as well as of brain, so he merely stood gaping with amazement at sight of the young woman who claimed him as a brother, and who bore not the slightest resemblance to his sister Jeanne. Edmé stepped quickly forward toward the turnkey, saying in a low voice as she approached him:-- "I bring _a message_ from your sister; the good sentry should have told you." Then in the same breath, she went on hurriedly to say: "The poor woman was taken quite ill this afternoon, so ill that she had to be put to bed. I came to do her work in the tribunal chambers, but thought you should be told of your sister's illness, so asked the sentry to let me speak to you." In her trepidation, she hardly knew what words came to her lips. There was silence; then after Privat had gotten the information into his head, and had digested it, he said slowly:-- "Tell Jeanne Privat that I shall come to see her--let me see--day after to-morrow--no--the day after that, Thursday, my first free time." Edmé looked up into his face. He was very tall and of a ruddy complexion, fully fifteen years younger than his sister. "Is that all your message?" she inquired, in order to gain time for thought. "At four o'clock in the afternoon, if you like, but she knows the time well enough--from four to six." Then without showing any further interest in the subject, the imperturbable Privat took up his bunch of keys and began to polish one of them upon his coatsleeve. There was a pause. Edmé summoned all her courage and spoke with as much composure as she could assume, although she felt that her voice trembled:-- "Citizen Privat, I have an urgent request to make you." Privat blinked at her out of his stupid eyes. "But I am prepared to pay for it." A sign of animation seemed to come into the turnkey's face, but he did not move nor seek to question her. "What I am about to ask may be very difficult for you to do, and that is why I am prepared to pay you _well_." She dwelt upon the last words, seeming to guess that she had struck the right note. "How much are you prepared to pay?" he asked in his slow way.