Count Hannibal

"Now the register, Monsieur," Maillard continued briskly; and waving him

in the direction of a clerk, who sat at the end of the long table, having

a book and a ink-horn before him, he turned to the next comer.

Tignonville would fain have avoided the ordeal of the register, but the

clerk's eye was on him. He had been fortunate so far, but he knew that

the least breath of suspicion would destroy him, and summoning his wits

together he gave his name in a steady voice. "Anne Desmartins." It was

his mother's maiden name, and the first that came into his mind.

"Of Paris?"

"Recently; by birth, of the Limousin."

"Good, Monsieur," the clerk answered, writing in the name. And he turned

to the next. "And you, my friend?"