He was imprisoned, as I told you, on the
evening after he had heard your names read from the death-list at
the prison grate. He remained in confinement at the Temple,
unnoticed in the political confusion out-of-doors, just as you
remained unnoticed at St. Lazare, and he profited precisely in
the same manner that you profited by the timely insurrection
which overthrew the Reign of Terror. I knew this, and I knew that
he walked out of prison in the character of a persecuted victim
of Robespierre's--and, for better than three years past, I knew
no more. Now listen. Last week I happened to be waiting in the
shop of my employer, Citizen Clairfait, for some papers to take
into the counting-house, when an old man enters with a sealed
parcel, which he hands to one of the shopmen, saying:
" 'Give that to Citizen Clairfait.'
" 'Any name?' says the shopman.
" 'The name is of no consequence,' answers the old man; 'but if
you please, you can give mine. Say the parcel came from Citizen
Dubois;' and then he goes out. His name, in connection with his
elderly look, strikes me directly.
" 'Does that old fellow live at Chalons?' I ask.
" 'No,' says the shopman. 'He is here in attendance on a customer
of ours--an old ex-aristocrat named Danville. She is on a visit
in our town.'
"I leave you to imagine how that reply startles and amazes me.
The shopman can answer none of the other questions I put to him;
but the next day I am asked to dinner by my employer (who, for
his brother's sake, shows me the utmost civility).
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