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Updated: May 18, 2025
Amid these memories and agitations, he found himself presently at the Gare Saint-Lazare, taking his ticket at the guichet.
We are among friends." But Guichet again looked at the drawing, and again shook his head. "I'm no judge of pictures, messieurs," said he. "I'm only a poor devil of a model. How can I pretend to know a man from such a griffonage as that?" And, taking up his big sword again, he retreated to his former post over against the picture. We all saw that he was resolved to say no more.
If I had come ten minutes sooner, I should have missed you." "Is it M'sieur Müller?" said Guichet, bending his heavy brows and staring at us in the gloom of the landing. "Ay, and with me the friend you saw the other day. So, this is your den? May we come in?"
Armed with this information, and knowing that any attempt to induce Guichet to move further in the matter would be useless, we then went back to the Bureau, and with much difficulty succeeded in persuading M. le Chef to send to Toulon for the photograph. This done, we could only wait and be patient.
The model shook his head. "I don't understand it," he said, slowly. "Nay, I could tell you more than that if I liked," said Müller, with an air of mystery. "About myself?" "Ay, about yourself, and others." Guichet, having just lighted his cigar, forgot to put it to his lips. "What others?" he asked, with a look half of dull bewilderment and half of apprehension. Müller shrugged his shoulders.
Of course, he knew his way to La Tournelle, and he would have covered the distance that separated him from the guichet there with steps flying like the wind, but, commending himself for his own prudence, he walked as slowly as he could along the interminable corridor, past the several minor courts of justice, and skirting the courtyard where the male prisoners took their exercise.
"I must see you. I could not live through the day without seeing you." "The theatre is the safest place." "I could not wait till the evening. May I not come here?" "No, no. Heron's spies may be about." "Where then?" She thought it over for a moment. "At the stage-door of the theatre at one o'clock," she said at last. "We shall have finished rehearsal. Slip into the guichet of the concierge.
"About an hour ago. But again, I repeat do you know him?" "Do I know him? Tonnerre de Dieu!" "Then who and what is he?" The model stroked his beard; shook his head; declined to answer. "Bah!" said he, gloomily, "I may have seen him, or I may be mistaken. 'Tis not my affair." "I suspect Guichet knows something against this interesting stranger," laughed Flandrin. "Come, Guichet, out with it!
Instantly she was among three or four hundred men, who stood with their backs to her, in queues up the long wooden hall. Far ahead on the improvised counter was a guichet marked "Cigars." She placed herself at the tail of that queue. "Move up, lady," said the man in front of her, moving her forward. "Say here's a lady. Move her up."
Avoiding these latter, we set ourselves down upon the edge of the chest; while Guichet, having by this time lit a piece of candle-end in a tin sconce against the wall, stood before us with folded arms, and stared at us in silence. "I want to know, Guichet, if you can give me some sittings," said Müller, by way of opening the conversation. "Depends on when, M'sieur Müller," growled the model.
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