“Sit down,” said he, “and wait a minute.”

He was out of the room five years.

“If he ever does come back,” I thought, “it will be in the company of five or six large gendarmes.”

But when he came back he came alone.

“Here,” he said abruptly, “is your passport. You will be permitted to go to Paris. We will keep track of you there.” And he bowed me out of the joint.

The crowd downstairs seemed as great as ever, and as scared. I picked my way through it with my head held high, a free man.