is his name?" asked Charles.
"Citizen Eugene."
"But Eugene is only his first name."
"Why, of course, and he has another name, a very funny name. Wait, his father was Marquis—wait—"
"I am waiting, Madame Teutch, I am waiting," said the boy with a laugh.
"That's only a manner of speaking: you know very well what I mean—a name like what they put on the backs of horses. Harness—Beauharnais; that's it! Eugene de Beauharnais. But I guess that it's on account of that de that they call him plain citizen Eugene."
This conversation reminded the boy of what Tétrell had told him. "By the way, Madame Teutch," he said, "you must have two commissioners from Besançon in your house."
"Yes, they came to reclaim your compatriot, the adjutant-general Perrin."
"Will they give him to them?"
"Oh! he has done better than wait for the decision of Saint-Just."
"What has he done?"
"He escaped last night."
"And he hasn't been caught again?"
"No, not yet."
"I am glad of that. He was a friend of my father's, and I was very fond of him also."
"Don't boast of that here."
"And what about my two compatriots?"
"Messieurs Ballu and Dumont?"
"Yes, why did they stay, since the man they came to rescue has escaped?"
"He is to be tried for contumacy, and they expect to defend him in his absence as they would have done had he been here."
"Ah!" murmured the child, "now I understand citizen Tétrell's advice." Then he said aloud: "Can I see them to-night?"
"Who?"
"Citizens Dumont and Ballu."
"Certainly you can see them if you wish to wait, but they have gone to the club called the 'Rights of Man,' and will not be home until two in the morning."
"I can't wait for them, I am too tired," replied the boy. "But you can give them a note from me when they come in, can't you?"
"Of course."
"To them alone, into their own hands?"
"To them alone, into their own hands."
"Where can I write it?"
"In the office, if you are warm now."
"I am."
Madame Teutch took a lamp from the table and carried it to a desk placed in a little closet similar to the ones used in aviaries. The boy followed her. There, upon a slip of paper bearing the stamp of the hotel, he wrote as follows: "A fellow-countryman, who knows on good authority that you are in immediate danger of being arrested, begs you to leave for Besançon at once."
Then he folded the note, sealed it and handed it to Madame Teutch.
"But you have not signed it!" exclaimed the hostess.
"That is not necessary. You can tell them who sent it."
"I won't fail to do so."
"If they are still here to-morrow morning, don't let them go until I have seen them."
"Don't worry."
"There! that's finished," said Gretchen, coming in with a clatter of sabots.
"Is the bed made?" asked Madame Teutch.
"Yes, mistress," replied Gretchen.
"And the fire lighted?"
"Yes."
"Then heat the warming-pan and show citizen Charles to his room. I am going to make his porridge."
Citizen Charles was so tired that he followed Gretchen and the warming-pan without a word. Ten minutes after he was in bed Madame Teutch entered his room with the milk porridge in her hand. She forced Charles, who was already half asleep, to drink it, gave him a little tap on each cheek, tucked in the sheets in a maternal fashion, bade him good-night, and went out carrying the light with her.
But the wishes of good Madame Teutch were only granted in part, for at six o'clock in the morning all the guests in the Hôtel de la Lanterne were awakened by the sound of voices and arms; the butt-ends of muskets clashed noisily upon the ground, while hasty steps ran through the corridors and doors were opened and shut with a bang.
The noise awakened Charles and he sat up in bed.
At the same moment his room was filled with light and noise. Members of the police force, accompanied by gendarmes, filed in, pulled the boy roughly out of bed, asked his name, his business in Strasbourg, and how long he had been there; searched under the bed, looked in the chimney-piece, fumbled in the closet, and went out as suddenly as they had come in, leaving the boy standing in the middle of the room, half naked and wholly bewildered.
It was evident that this was one of the domiciliary visits so common at that time, but that the new arrival was not the object of it. The latter therefore decided that the best thing he could do would be to go back to bed, after shutting the door that led into the corridor, and to sleep again if that were possible.
This resolution taken and carried out, he had scarcely drawn up the sheets, when the door opened to give entrance to Madame Teutch, coquettishly clad in a white nightgown, and carrying a lighted candle in her hand. She stepped softly, and opened the door without any noise, making a sign as she did so to Charles—who was leaning on his elbow looking at her with the utmost astonishment—not to speak. He, already impressed with the dangers of the life that had opened to him the night before, obeyed her and remained silent.
Citizeness Teutch closed the door leading to the corridor behind her with the utmost care, then, placing her candle on the chimney-piece, she took a chair, and, still with the same precautions, seated herself beside the boy's bed.
"Well, my little friend," she said, "I suppose you were very much frightened?"
"Not very much, madame," replied Charles, "for I knew the men were not seeking me."
"Nevertheless, it was high time that you warned your compatriots."
"Then the men were looking for them?"
"Themselves! Fortunately they came in about two o'clock, and I gave them your note. They read it over twice, then they asked me who had written it, and I told them that it was you, and who you were. After that they consulted together for a few moments, and finally said: 'Well, well, we must be off!' And they immediately set to work to pack their trunks, and sent Sleepy-head to take places for them in the Besançon diligence. Fortunately there were two left, so they started at five o'clock this morning; indeed, to make sure that they should not lose their places, they left here at four. They had been on their way to Besançon over an hour when the guards knocked on the door in the name of the law. But, just think, they were stupid enough to lose the note you wrote them, and the police have found it."
"Oh! that makes no difference; it was not signed."
"Yes, but as it was written on the stamped hotel paper they came back to ask me who had written it."
"The devil!"
"Of course you understand that I would rather tear out my heart than tell them. Poor dear, they would have taken you away. I said that when travellers asked for paper we sent it up to their rooms, and as there were some sixty travellers in the house, it would be impossible for me to know who had written it. They threatened to arrest me, and I told them I was quite ready to follow them, but that that would do them no good, as it was not I whom citizen Saint-Just had bade them arrest. They recognized the truth of my argument, and went away saying, 'Very well, very well, some day!' I answered,