“Ay—­Bras de Fer—­alias Coupe-gorge—­alias Triphot—­alias Lenoir—­alias a hundred other names.  Bras de Fer was the one he went by at Toulon—­and a real devil he was in the Bagnes!  He escaped three times, and was twice caught and brought back again.  The third time he killed one sentry, injured another for life, and got clear off.  That was five years ago, and I left soon after.  I suppose, if you saw him in Paris the other day, he has kept clear of Toulon ever since.”

“But was he in for life?” said Mueller, eagerly.

“Travaux forces a perpetuite,” replied Guichet, touching his own shoulder significantly with the thumb of his right hand.

Mueller sprang to his feet.

“Enough,” he said.  “That is all I wanted to know.  Guichet, mon cher, I am your debtor for life.  We will talk about the sittings when you have more time to dispose of.  Adieu.”

“But, M’sieur Mueller, you won’t get me into trouble!” exclaimed the model, eagerly.  “You won’t make any use of my words?”

“Why, supposing I went direct to the Prefecture, what trouble could I possibly get you into, mon ami?” replied Mueller.

The model looked down in silence.

“You are a brave man.  You do not fear the vengeance of Bras de Fer, or his friends?”

“No, M’sieur—–­it’s not that.”

“What is it, then?”

“M’sieur....”

“Pshaw, man!  Speak up.”

“It is not that you would get me personally into trouble, M’sieur Mueller,” said Guichet, slowly.  “I am no coward, I hope—­a coward would make a bad Garde Chiourme at Toulon, I fancy.  And I’m not an escaped forcat.  But—­but, you see, I’ve worked my way into a connection here in Paris, and I’ve made myself a good name among the artists, and ... and I hold to that good name above everything in the world.”

“Naturally—­rightly.  But what has that to do with Lenoir?”

“Ah, M’sieur Mueller, if you knew more about me, you would not need telling how much it has to do with him!  I was not always a Garde Chiourme at Toulon.  I was promoted to it after a time, for good conduct, you know, and that sort of thing.  But—­but I began differently—­I began by wearing the prison dress, and working in the quarries.”

“My good fellow,” said Mueller, gently, “I half suspected this—­I am not surprised; and I respect you for having redeemed that past in the way you have redeemed it.”

“Thank you, M’sieur Mueller; but you see, redeemed or unredeemed, I’d rather be lying at the bottom of the Seine than have it rise up against me now,”

“We are men of honor,” said Mueller, “and your secret is safe with us.”

“Not if you go to the Prefecture and inform against Bras de Fer on my words,” exclaimed the model, eagerly.  “How can I appear against him—­Guichet the model—­Guichet the Garde Chiourme—­Guichet the forcat? M’sieur Mueller, I could never hold my head up again.  It would be the ruin of me.”