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Dixmer and Morand appeared to appreciate this advantage only mildly and even spoke of having the cellars filled in, for, although all very well for a wine merchant, they were useless for good burghers intent on occupying the whole house.

After the cellars they visited the ground floor, the second floor, the third. From the third the view looked straight down on the Temple garden; as usual it was invaded by the National Guard, who had had it to themselves since the Queen stopped taking walks there.

Dixmer and Morand recognized their friend the widow Plumeau, going about her usual business doing the honors of her canteen. But doubtless their desire to be recognized by her was not great, for they stood hidden behind the owner as he pointed out to them the advantages of such a varied and pleasant view.

The buyer then asked to see the mansard, but the owner was obviously not expecting such a request, for he didn’t have the key on him. Prompted by the wad of assignats1 he was shown, though, he quickly ran down to get it.

“I was not mistaken,” said Morand. “This house is perfect for our purposes.”

“And what do you think of the cellar?”

“That it’s a godsend that will save us days of work.”

“Do you think it goes all the way to the canteen?”

“It runs a bit to the left, but that won’t matter.”

“But,” asked Dixmer, “how can you follow your line underground and be sure of ending up where you want to?”

“Don’t worry, my friend, that’s my concern.”

“What if we always give the signal from here that we’re keeping watch?”

“But the Queen wouldn’t be able to see it from the top of the tower; I think only the mansard is on the same level as the tower platform—and I’m not even sure of that.”

“Never mind,” said Dixmer. “Either Toulan or Turgy will see it from some opening somewhere, and they’ll tell Her Majesty.”

With that Dixmer tied knots at the bottom of a white calico curtain and threaded the curtain out the window as if it had been blown out by the wind. Then both men, pretending to be impatient to visit the mansard, went to wait for the proprietor on the stairs, after closing the door to the third floor behind them so the good man would not get the idea of pulling in his floating curtain.

The mansards, as Morand had anticipated, was not quite as high as the top of the tower. This was both a problem and an advantage: a problem because it meant not being able to communicate by signals with the Queen; an advantage because this impossibility would remove any suspicion. Tall houses were naturally the most carefully monitored.

“We’ll have to find a way of telling her to be on the lookout—through Turgy or Toulan or the Tison girl,” murmured Dixmer.

“I’ll work on it,” said Morand.

They went back down. The notary was waiting in the salon with the contract all signed.

“Wonderful,” said Dixmer. “The house suits me. Count out the 19,500 livres agreed on for the citizen and get him to sign.”

The proprietor carefully counted out the money and signed.

“You know, citizen,” said Dixmer, “the principal clause stipulates that the house will be handed over to me this very evening so that I can put my workers to work first thing tomorrow morning.”

“And I’ll stick to that, citizen; you can take the keys away with you. This evening at eight o’clock sharp it will be perfectly free.”

“One moment!” said Dixmer. “Didn’t you tell me, citizen notary, that there was a way out onto the rue Porte-Foin?”

“There is, citizen,” answered the proprietor, “but I had it blocked off, since I have only one officieux and the poor devil was run off his feet trying to keep his eye on two doors. In any case, the exit is constructed in such a way that you can easily open it up again with a couple of hours’ work, if that. Do you want to see for yourselves, citizens?”

“Thank you, but there’s no need,” said Dixmer. “I doubt if I’ll ever be needing that particular exit.”

With that both men withdrew, after having for the third time gotten the proprietor to promise to leave the apartment empty by eight that night.

At nine both men were back, followed at a discreet