" When the
gendarme came up with us, O'Brien observed, that the English prisoners
were very liberal; that he knew that a hundred Napoleons were often paid
for assistance, and he thought that no corporal's rank was equal to a
sum that would in France make a man happy and independent for life.
"Very true," replied the gendarme; "and let me only look upon that sum,
and I will guarantee a positive safety out of France."
"Then we understand each other," replied O'Brien; "this boy will give
two hundred--one half shall be yours, if you will assist."
"I will think of it," replied the gendarme, who then talked about
indifferent subjects, until we arrived at a small town, called Acarchot,
where we proceeded to a cabaret. The usual curiosity passed over we were
left alone, O'Brien telling the gendarme that he would expect his reply
that night or to-morrow morning. The gendarme said, to-morrow morning.
O'Brien requesting him to take charge of me, he called the woman of the
cabaret to show him a room; she showed him one or two, which he refused,
as not sufficiently safe for the prisoner. The woman laughed at the
idea, observing, "What had he to fear from a _pauvre enfant_ like me?"
"Yet this _pauvre enfant_ escaped from Givet," replied O'Brien; "these
Englishmen are devils from their birth." The last room showed to O'Brien
suited him, and he chose it--the woman not presuming to contradict a
gendarme. As soon as they came down again, O'Brien ordered me to bed,
and went up-stairs with me.
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