"
"Truly? Where?" asked Anatole, in evident perturbation. "Bah! we will
tire him of that. By the time we have finished a second bottle--"
"Or a third, if you will!" cried Hyde, cheerfully.
They had their breakfast--the most savoury dishes; ham and sour crout,
tripe after the mode of Caen, rich ripe Roquefort cheese, and had
disposed of three bottles of a rather rough but potent red wine,
before Anatole would speak on any but the most common-place topics. The
Crimea, the dreadful winter, the punishment administered to their
common enemy, occupied him exclusively.
But with the fourth bottle he became more communicative.
"You owe a long candle to your saint for your luck to-day in meeting
me," he said, with a slight hiccup.
"Ah! how so?"
"Had not I been there to give you protection you would now be under
lock and key in the depot of the Prefecture."
Hyde, in spite of himself, shuddered as he thought of his last
detention in that unsavoury prison.
"What, then, have you done, my English friend?" went on Anatole, with
drunken solemnity. "Why should the police seek your arrest?"
"But do they? I cannot believe it."
"It is as I tell you. I myself am in the 'cuisine' (the Prefecture).
Since my return from the war my illustrious services have been
rewarded by an appointment of great trust.
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