"Not every one has the secret of the
passage. Well, I can call myself a lucky man. 'Tis mighty few mercers
have a duke in their shop as often as I."
We looked curiously about us. The shop was low and dim, with piles of
stuff in rolls on the shelves, and other stuffs lying loose on the
counter before us, as if the man had just been measuring them--gorgeous
brocades and satins. Above us, a bell on the rafter still quivered.
"Yes, that is the bell of the trap," the proprietor said, following our
glance. "Customers do not know where it rings from. And if I am not at
liberty to open, I drop my brass yardstick on the floor--But they told
you that, doubtless, monsieur?" he added, regarding M. Etienne again a
little uneasily.
"They told me something else I had near forgotten," M. Etienne answered,
and, drawing a crown in the air, gave the password, "For the Cause."
"For the King," the shopkeeper made instant rejoinder, drawing in the
air in his turn a letter C and the numeral X.
M. Etienne laid a gold piece on the counter, and if the shopkeeper had
felt any doubts of this well-dressed gallant who wore no hat, they
vanished in its radiance.
"And now, my friend, let us out into the street and forget our faces."
The man took up his candle to light us to the door.
"Perhaps it would not trouble monsieur to say a word for me over there?"
he suggested, pointing in the direction of the tunnel.
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