The dungeon at Brest was fresh and sweet compared to it.
Yet Citizen Picquot smilingly demanded two francs a night and the price of my candle.
"Monsieur is safe here," said he, forgetting, as did I, that I knew no French.

"I had a guest, a week ago, who was found by the Guards and taken before the Tribunal and guillotined.

He would have been safe too, but we had a difference about money, and I denounced him.

It was only a week ago.

They will not search my house again for a month to come.
Monsieur will be quite safe; but if, alas, he perish (and who is quite safe in these days ?), I will myself protect his effects, and see his letter to the depute duly forwarded." All this was vastly consoling.
"Apropos," said I, "cannot I deliver my letter this evening ?" "This evening," said my host with a shrug; "it is death to approach a depute a la Convention Nationale after the seance is closed.