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But two hours before the deal was clinched in the jail, something happened in another part of the prison that, although without apparent interest, was no less crucial for the principal characters of this story.

The Conciergerie registrar, tired after a long day, was about to put his books away and go home when a man turned up at his office, led by citizeness Richard.

“Citizen registrar,” she said, “this is your colleague from the War Ministry, who comes on behalf of the citizen minister to remove some nuts and bolts the army needs.”

“Ah, citizen,” said the registrar, “you’re a bit late. I was just closing up shop.”

“Dear colleague, forgive me,” replied the newcomer, “but we have so much to do we can hardly get through all our chores except in our spare time, and our spare time, let me tell you, is almost always when others are eating or sleeping.”

“If that’s how it is, do what you have to, my dear colleague; but hurry it up, won’t you, for as you say, it’s time to eat and I’m hungry. Have you got your authorization?”

“Here it is,” said the clerk from the War Ministry, flashing a wallet that his colleague, in a hurry though he was, nonetheless examined scrupulously.

“It all seems to be in order,” said Mother Richard. “My husband has already given it a thorough going-over.”

“Never mind that,” said the registrar, continuing his inspection.

The clerk from the War Ministry waited patiently, like a man used to the strict accomplishment of formalities.

“Marvelous!” said the registrar of the Conciergerie. “You may now begin whenever you like. Do you have many nuts to take out?”

“About a hundred.”

“Then you’ll be at it for several days?”

“Yes, and so, dear colleague, I’d like to set myself up properly here, if you don’t mind, of course.”

“What do you mean?” asked the registrar of the Conciergerie.

“I’ll explain it all to you when I take you to dine at my place this evening; you said you were hungry.”

“And I won’t unsay it.”

“Well then, you can meet my wife—she’s quite a good cook, and you’ll get to know me—I’m not a bad sort.”

“Indeed, yes, that’s the way you strike me; but, dear colleague …”

“Oh, why don’t you just accept without further ado! I’ll buy the oysters at the place du Châtelet on the way and we’ll pick up a chicken from our rôtisseur; we’ll also have two or three little dishes Madame Durand makes to perfection.”

“You’re making my mouth water, dear colleague,” said the registrar of the Conciergerie, dazzled by the kind of menu a registrar in the pay of the Revolutionary Tribunal at the rate of two livres in assignats was not accustomed to, those two livres being in reality scarcely worth two francs.

“So you accept?”

“I accept.”

“In that case, the work can wait till tomorrow. That’s enough for this evening; let’s go.”

“Right you are.”

“Are you coming?”

“One second; just let me go and alert the gendarmes guarding the Austrian woman.”

“Why do you need to alert them?”

“So they know I’m going out and therefore there is no one in the office; they can keep an ear out for any suspect noise.”

“Ah, of course! Excellent precaution, I must say!”

“You understand, don’t you?”

“Perfectly. Off you go.”

The registrar of the Conciergerie did indeed go off and hammer at the wicket door, which one of the gendarmes opened.

“Who’s there?” he asked.

“Me! The registrar, you know. I’m off. Good night, citizen Gilbert.”

“Good night, citizen registrar.”

And the wicket closed again.

The clerk from the War Ministry had followed the whole scene with the closest attention, and when the door to the Queen’s cell was open, his gaze had rapidly plunged into the depths of the first compartment. He had seen the gendarme Duchesne at the table, and had assured himself that the Queen had, in fact, only two guards.

It goes without saying that when the registrar of the Conciergerie returned, his colleague once more looked as blank as he could possibly get his physiognomy to look.

As they were leaving the Conciergerie,