The sentinel raised his musket again.

"Then the kind gentleman will," said the hawker, and he thrust the purse
into M. Chateaudoux's reluctant hand. Chateaudoux could feel within the
purse a folded paper. He was committed now without a doubt, and in an
extreme alarm he flung a coin into the roadway and got him into the
house. The sentinel carelessly dropped the butt of his musket on the
coin.

"Go," said he, and with a sudden kick he lifted the hawker half across
the road. The hawker happened to be Charles Wogan, who took a little
matter like that with the necessary philosophy. He picked himself up and
limped off.

Now the next day a remarkable thing happened. M. Chateaudoux swerved
from the regularity of his habits. He walked along the avenue, it is
true; but at the end of it he tripped down a street and turned out of
that into another which brought him to the arcades. He did not appear to
enjoy his walk; indeed, any hurrying footsteps behind startled him
exceedingly and made his face turn white and red, and his body hot and
cold. However, he proceeded along the arcades to the cathedral, which he
entered; and just as the clock struck half-past three, in a dark corner
opposite to the third of the great statues he drew his handkerchief from
his pocket.

The handkerchief flipped out a letter which fell onto the ground. In the
gloom it was barely visible; and M. Chateaudoux walked on, apparently
unconscious of his loss. But a comfortable citizen in a snuff-coloured
suit picked it up and walked straight out of the cathedral to the Golden