He assumed a more careless air, trying to look as like a country bumpkin in love as he could.
"I would like to find out," he said, "but I don't know where to inquire.
My sweetheart has certainly left her home," he added lightly; "some say that she has been false to me, but I think that, mayhap, she has been arrested." "Well, then, you gaby," said the soldier good-humouredly, "go straight to La Tournelle; you know where it is ?" Armand knew well enough, but thought it more prudent to keep up the air of the ignorant lout.
"Straight down that first corridor on your right," explained the other, pointing in the direction which he had indicated, "you will find the guichet of La Tournelle exactly opposite to you.

Ask the concierge for the register of female prisoners--every freeborn citizen of the Republic has the right to inspect prison registers.

It is a new decree framed for safeguarding the liberty of the people.

But if you do not press half a livre in the hand of the concierge," he added, speaking confidentially, "you will find that the register will not be quite ready for your inspection." "Half a livre!" exclaimed Armand, striving to play his part to the end.
"How can a poor devil of a labourer have half a livre to give away ?" "Well! a few sous will do in that case; a few sous are always welcome these hard times." Armand took the hint, and as the crowd had drifted away momentarily to a further portion of the corridor, he contrived to press a few copper coins into the hand of the obliging soldier.
Of course, he knew his way to La Tournelle, and he would have covered the distance that separated him from the guichet there with steps flying like the wind, but, commending himself for his own prudence, he walked as slowly as he could along the interminable corridor, past the several minor courts of justice, and skirting the courtyard where the male prisoners took their exercise.
At last, having struck sharply to his left and ascended a short flight of stairs, he found himself in front of the guichet--a narrow wooden box, wherein the clerk in charge of the prison registers sat nominally at the disposal of the citizens of this free republic.
But to Armand's almost overwhelming chagrin he found the place entirely deserted.

The guichet was closed down; there was not a soul in sight.
The disappointment was doubly keen, coming as it did in the wake of hope that had refused to be gainsaid.