Part 64 (1/2)

”Pshaw, man! Speak up.”

”It is not that you would get me personally into trouble, M'sieur Muller,” said Guichet, slowly. ”I am no coward, I hope--a coward would make a bad Garde Chiourme at Toulon, I fancy. And I'm not an escaped _forcat_. But--but, you see, I've worked my way into a connection here in Paris, and I've made myself a good name among the artists, and ...

and I hold to that good name above everything in the world.”

”Naturally--rightly. But what has that to do with Lenoir?”

”Ah, M'sieur Muller, if you knew more about me, you would not need telling how much it has to do with him! I was not always a Garde Chiourme at Toulon. I was promoted to it after a time, for good conduct, you know, and that sort of thing. But--but I began differently--I began by wearing the prison dress, and working in the quarries.”

”My good fellow,” said Muller, gently, ”I half suspected this--I am not surprised; and I respect you for having redeemed that past in the way you have redeemed it.”

”Thank you, M'sieur Muller; but you see, redeemed or unredeemed, I'd rather be lying at the bottom of the Seine than have it rise up against me now,”

”We are men of honor,” said Muller, ”and your secret is safe with us.”

”Not if you go to the Prefecture and inform against Bras de Fer on my words,” exclaimed the model, eagerly. ”How can I appear against him--Guichet the model--Guichet the Garde Chiourme--Guichet the _forcat?_ M'sieur Muller, I could never hold my head up again. It would be the ruin of me.”

”You shall not appear against him, and it shall not be the ruin of you.

Guichet,” said Muller. ”That I promise you. Only a.s.sure me that what you have said is strictly correct--that Bras de Fer and Lenoir are one and the same person--an escaped _forcat_, condemned for life to the galleys.”

”That's as true, M'sieur Muller, as that G.o.d is in heaven,” said the model, emphatically.

”Then I can prove it without your testimony--I can prove it by simply summoning any of the Toulon authorities to identify him.”

”Or by stripping his s.h.i.+rt off his back, and showing the brand on his left shoulder,” said Guichet. ”There you'll find it, T.F. as large as life--and if it don't show at first, just you hit him a sharp blow with the flat of your hand, M'sieur Muller, and it will start out as red and fresh as if it had been done only six months ago. _Parbleu!_ I remember the day he came in, and the look in his face when the hot iron hissed into his fles.h.!.+ They roar like bulls, for the most part; but he never flinched or spoke. He just turned a shade paler under the tan, and that was all.”

”Do you remember what his crime was?” asked Muller

Guichet shook his head.

”Not distinctly,” he said. ”I only know that he was in for a good deal, and had a lot of things proved against him on his trial. But you can find all that out for yourself, easily enough. He was tried in Paris, about fourteen years ago, and it's all in print, if you only know where to look for it.”

”Then I'll find it, if I have to wade through half the Bibliotheque Nationale!” said Muller. ”Adieu, Guichet--you have done me a great service, and you may be sure I will do nothing to betray you. Let us shake hands upon it.”

The color rushed into the model's swarthy cheeks.

”_Comment_, M'sieur Muller!” he said, hesitatingly. ”You offer to shake hands with me--after what I have told you?”

”Ten times more willing than before, _mon ami_,” said Muller. ”Did I not tell you just now that I respected you for having redeemed that past, and shall I not give my hand where I give my respect?”

The model grasped his outstretched hand with a vehemence that made Muller wince again.

”Thank you,” he said, in a low, deep voice. ”Thank you. Death of my life! M'sieur Muller, I'd go to the galleys again for you, after this--if you asked me.”

”Agreed. Only when I do ask you, it shall be to pay a visit of ceremony to Monsieur Bras de Fer, when he is safely lodged again at Toulon with a chain round his leg, and a cannon-ball at the end of it.”

And with this Muller turned away laughingly, and I followed him down the dimly-lighted stairs.

”By Jove!” he said, ”what a grip the fellow gave me! I'd as soon shake hands with the Commendatore in Don Giovanni.”