"
"Ye gods!" cried the painter, "what a magnificent sketch one might
make of him!"
"Look here, you gentlemen-in-waiting to his highness the gibbet,
master of ceremonies to the widow" (a nickname full of sombre poetry,
given by prisoners to the guillotine), "be a good fellow, and tell me
if it really was Fil-de-Soie who sold me. I don't want him to suffer
for some one else, that would not be fair."
But before the chief had time to answer, the rest of the party
returned from making their investigations upstairs. Everything had
been opened and inventoried. A few words passed between them and the
chief, and the official preliminaries were complete.
"Gentlemen," said Collin, addressing the lodgers, "they will take me
away directly. You have all made my stay among you very agreeable, and
I shall look back upon it with gratitude. Receive my adieux, and
permit me to send you figs from Provence."
He advanced a step or two, and then turned to look once more at
Rastignac.
"Good-bye, Eugene," he said, in a sad and gentle tone, a strange
transition from his previous rough and stern manner. "If you should be
hard up, I have left you a devoted friend," and, in spite of his
shackles, he managed to assume a posture of defence, called, "One,
two!" like a fencing-master, and lunged.
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