"But how, Monsieurs?
For surely a courier must bear letters, and--" "So did I, so did I, my friend," the other interrupted, with vain glory.
"I knocked a patriotic courier over the head to obtain them.

He was genuine, that other courier, and I passed myself out of France with his papers." "Monsieur is amusing himself at the expense of my credulity," La Boulaye complained.
"My good man, I am telling you facts," the other insisted.
"But how could such a thing be accomplished ?" asked Caron, seating himself at the table, and resting his chin upon his hand, his gaze so full of admiration as to seem awestruck.
"How?
I will tell you.

I am from Artois." "You'll be repeating that charming story once too often," Des Cadoux cautioned him.
"Pish, you timorous one!" he laughed, and resumed his tale.

"I am from Artois, then.

I have some property there, and it lately came to my ears that this assembly of curs they call the Convention had determined to make an end of me.