Caught in the Net Read online

  Produced by Dagny; John Bickers

  CAUGHT IN THE NET

  By Emile Gaboriau

  CHAPTER I.

  PUTTING ON THE SCREW.

  The cold on the 8th of February, 186-, was more intense than theParisians had experienced during the whole of the severe winterwhich had preceded it, for at twelve o'clock on that day Chevalier'sthermometer, so well known by the denizens of Paris, registered threedegrees below zero. The sky was overcast and full of threatening signsof snow, while the moisture on the pavement and roads had frozen hard,rendering traffic of all kinds exceedingly hazardous. The whole greatcity wore an air of dreariness and desolation, for even when a thincrust of ice covers the waters of the Seine, the mind involuntarilyturns to those who have neither food, shelter, nor fuel.

  This bitterly cold day actually made the landlady of the Hotel de Perou,though she was a hard, grasping woman of Auvergne, give a thought to thecondition of her lodgers, and one quite different from her usual idea ofobtaining the maximum of rent for the minimum of accommodation.

  "The cold," remarked she to her husband, who was busily engaged inreplenishing the stove with fuel, "is enough to frighten the wits out ofa Polar bear. In this kind of weather I always feel very anxious, forit was during a winter like this that one of our lodgers hung himself, atrick which cost us fifty francs, in good, honest money, besides givingus a bad name in the neighborhood. The fact is, one never knows whatlodgers are capable of doing. You should go up to the top floor, and seehow they are getting on there."

  "Pooh, pooh!" replied her husband, M. Loupins; "they will do wellenough."

  "Is that really your opinion?"

  "I know that I am right. Daddy Tantaine went out as soon as it waslight, and a short time afterward Paul Violaine came down. There is noone upstairs now but little Rose, and I expect that she has been wiseenough to stick to her bed."

  "Ah!" answered the landlady rather spitefully. "I have made up my mindregarding that young lady some time ago; she is a sight too pretty forthis house, and so I tell you."

  The Hotel de Perou stands in the Rue de la Hachette, not twenty stepsfrom the Place de Petit Pont; and no more cruelly sarcastic title couldever have been conferred on a building. The extreme shabbiness of theexterior of the house, the narrow, muddy street in which it stood,the dingy windows covered with mud, and repaired with every variety ofpatch,--all seemed to cry out to the passers by: "This is the chosenabode of misery and destitution."

  The observer might have fancied it a robbers' den, but he would havebeen wrong; for the inhabitants were fairly honest. The Hotel de Perouwas one of those refuges, growing scarcer and more scarce every day,where unhappy men and women, who had been worsted in the battle of life,could find a shelter in return for the change remaining from the lastfive-franc piece. They treat it as the shipwrecked mariner uses the rockupon which he climbs from the whirl of the angry waters, and breathesa deep sigh of relief as he collects his forces for a fresh effort.However wretched existence may be, a protracted sojourn in such ashelter as the Hotel de Perou would be out of the question. The chambersin every floor of the house are divided into small slips by partitions,covered with canvas and paper, and pleasantly termed rooms by M.Loupins. The partitions were in a terrible condition, rickety andunstable, and the paper with which they were covered torn and hangingdown in tatters; but the state of the attics was even more deplorable,the ceilings of which were so low that the occupants had to stoopcontinually, while the dormer windows admitted but a small amount oflight. A bedstead, with a straw mattress, a rickety table, and twobroken chairs, formed the sole furniture of these rooms. Miserableas these dormitories were, the landlady asked and obtained twenty-twofrancs for them by the month, as there was a fireplace in each, whichshe always pointed out to intending tenants.

  The young woman whom M. Loupins alluded to by the name of Rose wasseated in one of these dreary dens on this bitter winter's day. Rose wasan exquisitely beautiful girl about eighteen years of age. She was veryfair; her long lashes partially concealed a pair of steely blue eyes,and to a certain extent relieved their hard expression. Her ripe, redlips, which seemed formed for love and kisses, permitted a glimpse ofa row of pearly teeth. Her bright waving hair grew low down upon herforehead, and such of it as had escaped from the bondage of a cheapcomb, with which it was fastened, hung in wild luxuriance over herexquisitely shaped neck and shoulders. She had thrown over her raggedprint gown the patched coverlet of the bed, and, crouched uponthe tattered hearthrug before the hearth, upon which a few stickssmouldered, giving out hardly a particle of heat, she was telling herfortune with a dirty pack of cards, endeavoring to console herself forthe privations of the day by the promise of future prosperity. She hadspread those arbiters of her destiny in a half circle before her, anddivided them into threes, each of which had a peculiar meaning, and herbreast rose and fell as she turned them up and read upon their facesgood fortune or ill-luck. Absorbed in this task, she paid but littleattention to the icy chilliness of the atmosphere, which made herfingers stiff, and dyed her white hands purple.

  "One, two, three," she murmured in a low voice. "A fair man, that'ssure to be Paul. One, two, three, money to the house. One, two, three,troubles and vexations. One, two, three, the nine of spades; ah, dear!more hardships and misery,--always that wretched card turning up withits sad story!"

  Rose seemed utterly downcast at the sight of the little piece of paintedcardboard, as though she had received certain intelligence of acoming misfortune. She soon, however, recovered herself, and was againshuffling the pack,--cut it, taking care to do so with her left hand,spread them out before her, and again commenced counting: one, two,three. This time the cards appeared to be more propitious, and held outpromises of success for the future.

  "I am loved," read she, as she gazed anxiously upon them,--"very muchloved! Here is rejoicing, and a letter from a dark man! See, here heis,--the knave of clubs. Always the same," she continued; "I cannotstrive against fate."

  Then, rising to her feet, she drew from a crack in the wall, whichformed a safe hiding-place for her secrets, a soiled and crumpledletter, and, unfolding it, she read for perhaps the hundredth time thesewords:--

  "MADEMOISELLE,--

  "To see you is to love you. I give you my word of honor that this istrue. The wretched hovel where your charms are hidden is no fitabode for you. A home, worthy in every way to receive you, is atyour service--Rue de Douai. It has been taken in your name, as I amstraightforward in these matters. Think of my proposal, and make whatinquiries you like concerning me. I have not yet attained my majority,but shall do so in five months and three days, when I shall inherit mymother's fortune. My father is wealthy, but old and infirm. From four tosix in the afternoon of the next few days I will be in a carriage at thecorner of the Place de Petit Pont.

  "GASTON DE GANDELU."

  The cynical insolence of the letter, together with its entire want ofform, was a perfect example of the style affected by those loiterersabout town, known to the Parisians as "mashers;" and yet Rose did notappear at all disgusted by the reception of such an unworthily wordedproposal, but, on the contrary, rather pleased by its contents. "If Ionly dared," mused she, with a sigh,--"ah, if I only dared!" For a timeshe sat deeply immersed in thought, with her face buried in her hands,until she was aroused from her meditations by the sound of an active andyouthful step upon the creaking stairs. "He has come back," she gasped;and with the agile movement of a cat she again concealed the letterin its hiding-place, and she had scarcely done so, when Paul Violaineentered the miserable room. He was a young man of twenty-three, ofslender figure, but admirably proportioned. His face was a perfect oval,and his complexion of just that slight olive tint which betrays thenative of the south of France. A slight, sil
ky moustache concealed hisupper lip, and gave his features that air of manliness in which theywould have otherwise been deficient. His curly chestnut hair fellgracefully over a brow upon which an expression of pride was visible,and enhanced the peculiar, restless glance of his large dark eyes. Hisphysical beauty, which was fully equal to that of Rose, was increased byan aristocratic air, popularly believed to be only found in the scionsof noble families. The landlady, in her moments of good humor, used toassert her belief that her lodger was a disguised prince; but if thiswere the case, he was certainly one that had been overtaken by poverty.His dress, to which the closest attention had been paid, revealed thestate of destitution in which he was,--not the destitution which openlyasks for alms, but the hidden poverty which shuns communication andblushes at a single glance of pity. In this almost Arctic winter he woreclothes rendered thin by the constant friction of the clothes brush,over which was a light overcoat about as thick as the web of a spider.His shoes were well blacked, but their condition told the piteous taleof long walks in search of employment, or of that good luck which seemsto evade its pursuer.

  Paul was holding a roll of manuscript in his hand, and as he enteredthe room he threw it on the bed with a despairing gesture. "A failureagain!" exclaimed he, in accents of the utmost depression. "Nothing elsebut failures!"

  The young woman rose hastily to her feet; she appeared to have forgottenthe cards completely; the smile of satisfaction faded from her face andher features, and an expression of utter weariness took its place.

  "What! no success?" she cried, affecting a surprise which was evidentlyassumed. "No success, after all your promises when you left me thismorning?"

  "This morning, Rose, a ray of hope had penetrated my heart; but I havebeen deceived, or rather I deceived myself, and I took my ardent desiresfor so many promises which were certain to be fulfilled. The people thatI have been to have not even the kindness to say 'No' plain and flat;they listen to all you have to say, and as soon as your back is turnedthey forget your existence. The coin that passes around in thisinfernal town is indeed nothing but idle words, and that is all thatpoverty-stricken talent can expect."

  A silence of some duration ensued, and Paul was too much absorbed inhis own thoughts to notice the look of contempt with which Rose wasregarding him. His helpless resignation to adverse circumstancesappeared to have turned her to stone.

  "A nice position we are in!" said she at last. "What do you think willbecome of us?"

  "Alas! I do not know."

  "Nor I. Yesterday Madame Loupins came to me and asked for the elevenfrancs we owe here; and told me plainly that if within three days we didnot settle our account, she would turn us out; and I know enough of herto be sure that she will keep her word. The detestable old hag would doanything for the pleasure of seeing me on the streets."

  "Alone and friendless in the world," muttered Paul, paying but littleattention to the young girl's words, "without a creature or a relativeto care for you, or to lend you a helping hand."

  "We have not a copper in the world," continued Rose with cruelpersistency; "I have sold everything that I had, to preserve the ragsthat I am wearing. Not a scrap of wood remains, and we have not tastedfood since yesterday morning."

  To these words, which were uttered in a tone of the most bitterreproach, the young man made no reply, but clasped his icily cold handsagainst his forehead, as though in utter despair.

  "Yes, that is a true picture of our position," resumed Rose coldly,her accents growing more and more contemptuous. "And I tell you thatsomething must be done at once, some means discovered, I care not what,to relieve us from our present miserable state."

  Paul tore off his overcoat, and held it toward her.

  "Take it, and pawn it," exclaimed he; but the girl made no move.

  "Is that all that you have to propose?" asked she, in the same glacialtone.

  "They will lend you three francs upon it, and with that we can get breadand fuel."

  "And after that is gone?"

  "After that--oh, we will think of our next step, and shall have time tohit upon some plan. Time, a little time, is all that I require, Rose, tobreak asunder the bonds which seem to fetter me. Some day success mustcrown my efforts; and with success, Rose, dear, will come affluence, butin the meantime we must learn to wait."

  "And where are the means to enable us to wait?"

  "No matter; they will come. Only do what I tell you, and who can saywhat to-morrow----"

  Paul was still too much absorbed in his own thoughts to notice theexpression upon the young girl's face; for had he done so, he would atonce have perceived that she was not in the humor to permit the matterto be shelved in this manner.

  "To-morrow!" she broke in sarcastically. "To-morrow,--always the samepitiful cry. For months past we seem to have lived upon the word. Lookyou here, Paul, you are no longer a child, and ought to be able to lookthings straight in the face. What can I get on that threadbare coat ofyours? Perhaps three francs at the outside. How many days will thatlast us? We will say three. And then, what then? Besides, can you notunderstand that your dress is too shabby for you to make an impressionon the people you go to see? Well-dressed applicants only haveattention, and to obtain money, you must appear not to need it; and,pray, what will people think of you if you have no overcoat? Without oneyou will look ridiculous, and can hardly venture into the streets."

  "Hush!" cried Paul, "for pity's sake, hush! for your words only prove tome more plainly that you are like the rest of the world, and that wantof success is a pernicious crime in your eyes. You once had confidencein me, and then you spoke in a very different strain."

  "Once indeed! but then I did not know--"

  "No, Rose, it was not what you were then ignorant of; but it was that inthose days you loved me.

  "Great heavens! I ask you, have I left one stone unturned? Have Inot gone from publisher to publisher to sell those songs of my owncomposing--those songs that you sing so well? I have endeavored to getpupils. What fresh efforts can I try? What would _you_ do, were you inmy place? Tell me, I beg you."

  And as Paul spoke, he grew more and more excited, while Rose stillmaintained her manner of exasperating coolness.

  "I know not," she replied, after a brief pause; "but if I were a man, Ido not think I would permit the woman, for whom I pretended that I hadthe most sincere affection, to be in want of the actual necessities oflife. I would strain every effort to obtain them."

  "I have no trade; I am no mechanic," broke in Paul passionately.

  "Then I would learn one. Pray how much does a man earn who climbs theladder with a bricklayer's hod upon his shoulders? It may be hard work,I know, but surely the business is not difficult to learn. You have, orsay you have, great musical talents. I say nothing about them; but hadI any vocal powers and if there was not a morsel to eat in the house,I would go and sing in the taverns or even in the public streets, andwould earn money, and care little for the means by which I made it."

  "When you say those things, you seem to forget that I am an honest man."

  "One would really suppose that I had suggested some questionable act toyou. Your reply, Paul, plainly proves to me that you are one of thosewho, for want of determination, fall, helpless, by the wayside in thejourney of life. They flaunt their rags and tatters in the eyes of theworld, and with saddened hearts and empty stomachs utter the boast,'I am an honest man.' Do you think that, in order to be rich, you mustperforce be a rogue? This is simple imbecility."

  She uttered this tirade in clear and vibrant accents, and her eyesgleamed with the fire of savage resolution. Her nature was one of thosecruel and energetic ones, which lead a woman to hurl a man from thebrink of the abyss to which she had conducted him, and to forget himbefore he has ever reached the bottom.

  This torrent of sarcasm brought out Paul's real nature. His faceflushed, and rage began to gain the mastery over him. "Can you notwork?" he asked. "Why do you not do something instead of talking somuch?"

  "That is not at
all the same thing," answered she coolly. "I was notmade for work."

  Paul made a threatening gesture. "You wretch!" exclaimed he.

  "You are wrong," she replied. "I am not a wretch; I am simply hungry."

  There seemed every prospect of an angry scene, when a slight soundattracted the attention of the disputants, and, turning round, they sawan old man standing upon the threshold of their open door. He was tall,but stooped a good deal. He had high, thick brows, and a red nose; along, thick, grizzly beard covered the rest of his countenance. He worea pair of spectacles with colored glasses, which, to a great extent,concealed the expression of his face. His whole attire indicated extremepoverty. He wore a greasy coat, much frayed and torn at the pockets, andwhich had carried away with it marks of all the walls against which ithad been rubbed when he had indulged a little too freely in the cheerfulglass. He seemed to belong to that class who consider it a work ofsupererogation to disrobe before going to bed, and who just turn in onsuch spot as the fancy of the moment may dictate. Paul and Rose bothrecognized the old man from having continually met him when ascendingor descending the staircase, and knew that he rented the back attic, andwas called Daddy Tantaine. In an instant the idea flashed across Paul'smind that the dilapidated state of the partition permitted every wordspoken in one attic to be overheard in the other, and this did not tendto soothe his exasperated feelings.

  "What do you want here, sir?" asked he angrily. "And, pray, who gave youpermission to enter my room without leave?"

  The old man did not seem at all put out by the threatening language ofhis questioner. "I should be telling a fib," answered he calmly, "if Iwere to tell you that, being in my own room and hearing you quarrelling,I did not hear every word of what you have been saying."

  "Sir!"

  "Stop a bit, and don't be in such a hurry, my young friend. You seemdisposed to quarrel, and, on my faith, I am not surprised; for whenthere is no corn in the manger, the best tempered horse will bite andkick."

  He uttered these words in the most soothing accents, and appearedutterly unconscious of having committed any breach of etiquette inentering the room.

  "Well, sir," said Paul, a flush of shame passing across his face, "yousee now how poverty can drag a man down. Are you satisfied?"

  "Come, come, my young friend," answered Daddy Tantaine, "you should notget angry; and if I did step in without any notice, it was because, as aneighbor, I find I might venture on such a liberty; for when I heard howembarrassed you were, I said to myself, 'Tantaine, perhaps you can helpthis pretty pair out of the scrape they have got into.'"

  The promise of assistance from a person who had not certainly theoutward appearance of a capitalist seemed so ludicrous to Rose that shecould not restrain a smile, for she fancied that if their old neighborwas to present them with half his fortune, it might possibly amount totwenty centimes or thereabouts.

  Paul had formed a somewhat similar idea, but he was a little touched bythis act of friendliness on the part of a man who doubtless knew thatmoney lent under similar circumstances was but seldom returned.

  "Ah, sir!" said he, and this time he spoke in softer accents, "what canyou possibly do for us?"

  "Who can say?"

  "You can see how hard we are pushed. We are in want of almosteverything. Have we not reached the _acme_ of misery?"

  The old man raised his hand to heaven, as if to seek for aid from above.

  "You have indeed come to a terrible pass," murmured he; "but all is notyet lost. The pearl which lies in the depths of the ocean is not lostfor ever; for may not some skillful diver bring it to the surface? Afisherman may not be able to do much with it, but he knows something ofits value, and hands it over to the dealer in precious stones."

  He intensified his speech by a little significant laugh, the meaningof which was lost upon the two young people who, though their evilinstincts led them to be greedy and covetous, were yet unskilled in theworld's ways.

  "I should," remarked Paul, "be a fool if I did not accept the offer ofyour kind assistance."

  "There, then, that is right; and now the first thing to do is to have areally good feed. You must get in some wood too, for it is frightfullycold. My old bones are half frozen; and afterward we will talk of afresh rig out for you both."

  "Yes," remarked Rose with a faint sigh; "but to do all that, we want alot of money."

  "Well, how do you know that I can't find it?"

  Daddy Tantaine unbuttoned his great coat with grave deliberation, anddrew from an inner pocket a small scrap of paper which had been fastenedto the lining by a pin. This he unfolded with the greatest of care andlaid upon the table.

  "A banknote for five hundred francs!" exclaimed Rose, with extremesurprise. Paul did not utter a word. Had he seen the woodwork of thechair upon which he was leaning burst into flower and leaf, he could nothave looked more surprised. Who could have expected to find such a sumconcealed beneath the old man's tatters, and how could he have obtainedso much money? The idea that some robbery had been committed at onceoccurred to both the young people, and they exchanged a meaning glance,which, however, did not escape the observation of their visitor.

  "Pooh, pooh!" said he, without appearing in the slightest degreeannoyed. "You must not give way to evil thoughts or suspicions. It isa fact that banknotes for five hundred francs don't often grow out ofa ragged pocket like mine. But I got this fellow honestly,--that I canguarantee."

  Rose paid no attention to his words; indeed, she took no interest inthem. The note was there, and that was enough for her. She took it upand smoothed it out as though the crisp paper communicated a pleasantsensation to her fingers.

  "I must tell you," resumed Daddy Tantaine, "that I am employed by asheriff's officer, and that, in addition, I do a little bill collectingfor various persons. By these means I have often comparatively largesums in my possession, and I can lend you five hundred francs for ashort time without any inconvenience to myself."

  Paul's necessities and conscience were fighting a hard battle, andhe remained silent, as a person generally does before arriving at amomentous decision.

  At length he broke the silence. "No," said he, "your offer is one that Icannot accept, for I feel--"

  "This is no time, my dear Paul, to talk of feelings," interrupted Rose;"besides, can you not see that our refusal to accept the loan annoysthis worthy gentleman?"

  "The young lady is quite right," returned Daddy Tantaine. "Come, letus say that the matter is settled. Go out and get in something to eat,sharp, for it has struck four some time ago."

  At these words, Rose started, and a scarlet flush spread over hercheek. "Four o'clock," repeated she, thinking of her letter; but after amoment's reflection she stepped up to the cracked mirror, and arrangingher tattered skirts, took up the banknote and left the room.

  "She is a rare beauty," remarked Daddy Tantaine with the air of one whowas an authority in such matters, "and as clever as they make them.Ah! if she had only some one to give her a hint, she might rise to anyheight."

  Paul's ideas were in such a wild state of confusion, that he couldmake no reply; and, now that he was no longer held in thrall by Rose'spresence, he began to be terrified at what had taken place, for heimagined that he caught a sinister expression in the old man's facewhich made him very suspicious of the wisdom of the course he had beenpersuaded to pursue. Was there ever such an unheard-of event as an oldman of such a poverty-stricken appearance showering banknotes upon theheads of perfect strangers? There was certainly something mysteriousin the affair, and Paul made up his mind that he would do his utmost toavoid being compromised.

  "I have thought the matter over," said he resolutely; "and it isimpossible for me to accept the loan of a sum which it would bedifficult for me to repay."

  "My dear young friend, that is not the way to talk. If you do not have agood opinion of yourself, all the world will judge you according to yourown estimation. Your inexperience has, up to this time, been the solecause of your failure. Poverty soon change
s a boy into a man as strawripens fruit; but the first thing you must do is to put all confidencein me. You can repay the five hundred francs at your convenience, but Imust have six per cent. for my money and your note of hand."

  "But really--," began Paul.

  "I am looking at the matter in a purely business light, so we can dropsentiment."

  Paul had so little experience in the ways of the world, that the merefact of giving his acceptance for the money borrowed put him at onceat his ease, though he knew well that his name was not a very valuableaddition to the slip of paper.

  Daddy Tantaine, after a short search through his pockets, discovereda bill stamp, and, placing it on the table, said, "Write as I shalldictate:--

  'On the 8th of June, 188-, I promise to pay to M. Tantaine or order thesum of five hundred francs for value received, such sum to bear interestat the rate of six per cent. per annum.

  'Frs. 500.

  'PAUL VIOLAINE.'"

  The young man had just completed his signature when Rose made herappearance, bearing a plentiful stock of provisions in her arms. Hereyes had a strange radiance in them, which Paul, however, did notnotice, as he was engaged in watching the old man, who, after carefullyinspecting the document, secured it in one of the pockets of his raggedcoat.

  "You will, of course, understand, sir," remarked Paul, "that there isnot much chance of my being able to save sufficient to meet this bill infour months, so that the date is a mere form."

  A smile of benevolence passed over Daddy Tantaine's features. "Andsuppose," said he, "that I, the lender, was to put the borrower in aposition to repay the advance before a month had passed?"

  "Ah! but that is not possible."

  "I do not say, my young friend, that I could do this myself; but I havea good friend whose hand reaches a long way. If I had only listened tohis advice when I was younger, you would not have caught me to-day inthe Hotel de Perou. Shall I introduce you to him?"

  "Am I a perfect fool, to throw away such a chance?"

  "Good! I shall see him this evening, and will mention your name to him.Call on him at noon to-morrow, and if he takes a fancy to you,--decidesto push you, your future is assured, and you will have no doubts as togetting on."

  He took out a card from his pocket and handed it to Paul, adding, "Thename of my friend is Mascarin."

  Meanwhile Rose, with a true Parisian's handiness, had contrived torestore order from chaos, and had arranged the table, with its one ortwo pieces of broken crockery, with scraps of brown paper instead ofplates. A fresh supply of wood crackled bravely on the hearth, and twocandles, one of which was placed in a chipped bottle, and the other in atarnished candlestick belonging to the porter of the hotel. In the eyesof both the young people the spectacle was a truly delightful one, andPaul's heart swelled with triumph. The business had been satisfactorilyconcluded, and all his misgivings were at an end.

  "Come, let us gather round the festive board," said he joyously. "Thisis breakfast and dinner in one. Rose, be seated; and you, my dearfriend, will surely share with us the repast we owe to you?"

  With many protestations of regret, however, Daddy Tantaine pleaded animportant engagement at the other end of Paris. "And," added he, "it isabsolutely necessary that I should see Mascarin this evening, for I musttry my best to make him look on you with a favorable eye."

  Rose was very glad when the old man took his departure, for hisugliness, the shabbiness of his dress, and his general aspect of dirt,drove away all the feelings of gratitude she ought to have evinced, andinspired in her loathing and repugnance; and she fancied that his eyes,though veiled by his colored glasses, could detect the minutest secretsof her heart; but still this did not prevent her putting on a sweetsmile and entreating him to remain.

  But Daddy Tantaine was resolute; and after impressing upon Paul thenecessity of punctuality, he went away, repeating, as he passed throughthe door, "May good appetite be present at your little feast, my dears."

  As soon, however, as the door was closed he bent down and listened. Theyoung people were as merry as larks, and their laughter filled thebare attic of the Hotel de Perou. Why should not Paul have been in goodspirits? He had in his pocket the address of the man who was to make hisfortune, and on the chimney-piece was the balance of the banknote, whichseemed to him an inexhaustible sum. Rose, too, was delighted, and couldnot refrain from jeering at their benefactor, whom she stigmatized as"an old idiot."

  "Laugh while you can, my dears!" muttered Daddy Tantaine; "for this maybe the last time you will do so."

  With these words he crept down the dark staircase, which was onlylighted up on Sundays, owing to the high price of gas, and, peepingthrough the glass door of the porter's lodge, saw Madame Loupins engagedin cooking; and, with the timid knock of a man who has learned hislesson in poverty's grammar, he entered.

  "Here is my rent, madame," said he, placing on the table ten francsand twenty centimes. Then, as the woman was scribbling a receipt, helaunched into a statement of his own affairs, and told her that he hadcome into a little property which would enable him to live in comfortduring his few remaining years on earth; and--evidently fearing thathis well-known poverty might cause Madame Loupins to discredit hisassertions--drew out his pocketbook and exhibited several banknotes.This exhibition of wealth so surprised the landlady, that when the oldman left she insisted on lighting him to the door. He turned eastward assoon as he had left the house, and, glancing at the names of the shops,entered a grocer's establishment at the corner of the Rue de Petit Pont.This grocer, thanks to a certain cheap wine, manufactured for him by achemist at Bercy, had achieved a certain notoriety in that quarter. Hewas very stout and pompous, a widower, and a sergeant in the NationalGuard. His name was Melusin. In all poor districts five o'clock is abusy hour for the shopkeepers, for the workmen are returning from theirlabors, and their wives are busy in their preparations for their eveningmeal. M. Melusin was so busily engaged, giving orders and seeing thatthey were executed, that he did not even notice the entrance of DaddyTantaine; but had he done so, he would not have put himself out for sopoorly dressed a customer. But the old man had left behind him in theHotel de Perou every sign of humility and servility, and, making his wayto the least crowded portion of the shop, he called out in imperativeaccents, "M. Melusin!"

  Very much surprised, the grocer ceased his avocation and hastened toobey the summons. "How the deuce does the man know me?" muttered he,forgetting that his name was over the door in gilt letters fully sixinches long.

  "Sir," said Daddy Tantaine, without giving the grocer time to speak,"did not a young woman come here about half an hour ago and change anote for five hundred francs?"

  "Most certainly," answered M. Melusin; "but how did you know that? Ah,I have it!" he added, striking his forehead; "there has been a robbery,and you are in pursuit of the criminal. I must confess that the girllooked so poor, that I guessed there was something wrong. I saw herfingers tremble."

  "Pardon me," returned Daddy Tantaine. "I have said nothing about arobbery. I only wished to ask you if you would know the girl again?"

  "Perfectly--a really splendid girl, with hair that you do not see everyday. I have reason to believe that she lives in the Rue Hachette. Thepolice are not very popular with the shopkeeping class; but the latter,desirous of keeping down crime, generally afford plenty of information,and in the interests of virtue will even risk losing customers, who gooff in a huff at not being attended to while they are talking to theofficers of justice. Shall I," continued the grocer, "send one of theerrand boys to the nearest police station?"

  "No, thank you," replied Daddy Tantaine. "I should prefer your keepingthe matter quiet until I communicate with you once more."

  "Yes, yes, I see; a false step just now would put them on their guard."

  "Just so. Now, will you let me have the number of the note, if youstill have it? I wish you also to make a note of the date as well as thenumber."

  "Yes, yes, I see," returned the grocer. "You may require my books a
scorroborative evidence; that is often the way. Excuse me; I will be backdirectly."

  All that Daddy Tantaine had desired was executed with the greatestrapidity, and he and the grocer parted on the best terms, and thetradesman watched his visitor's departure, perfectly satisfied that hehad been assisting a police officer who had deemed it fit to assume adisguise. Daddy Tantaine cared little what he thought, and, gaining thePlace de Petit Pont, stopped and gazed around as if he was waiting forsome one. Twice he walked round it in vain; but in his third circuit hecame to a halt with an exclamation of satisfaction, for he had seen theperson of whom he had been in search, who was a detestable lookingyouth of about eighteen years of age, though so thin and stunted that hehardly appeared to be fifteen.

  The lad was leaning against the wall of the Quay St. Michel, openlyasking alms, but keeping a sharp lookout for the police. At the firstglance it was easy to detect in him the hideous outgrowth of the greatcity, the regular young rough of Paris, who, at eight years of age,smokes the butt ends of cigars picked up at the tavern doors andgets tipsy on coarse spirits. He had a thin crop of sandy hair, hiscomplexion was dull and colorless, and a sneer curled the corners ofhis mouth, which had a thick, hanging underlip, and his eyes had anexpression in them of revolting cynicism. His dress was tattered anddirty, and he had rolled up the sleeve of his right arm, exhibiting adeformed limb, sufficiently repulsive to excite the pity of the passersby. He was repeating a monotonous whine, in which the words "poorworkman, arm destroyed by machinery, aged mother to support," occurredcontinually.

  Daddy Tantaine walked straight up to the youth, and with a sound cuffsent his hat flying.

  The lad turned sharply round, evidently in a terrible rage; but,recognizing his assailant, shrank back, and muttered to himself,"Landed!" In an instant he restored his arm to its originally healthycondition, and, picking up his cap, replaced it on his head, and humblywaited for fresh orders.

  "Is this the way you execute your errands?" asked Daddy Tantaine,snarling.

  "What errands? I have heard of none!"

  "Never you mind that. Did not M. Mascarin, on my recommendation, put youin the way of earning your livelihood? and did you not promise to giveup begging?"

  "Beg pardon, guv'nor, I meant to be on the square, but I didn't like towaste time while I was a-waiting. I don't like a-being idle and I havecopped seven browns."

  "Toto Chupin," said the old man, with great severity, "you willcertainly come to a bad end. But come, give your report. What have youseen?"

  During this conversation they were walking slowly along the quay, andhad passed the Hotel Dieu.

  "Well, guv'nor," replied the young rogue, "I just saw what you said Ishould. At four sharp, a carriage drove into the Place, and pulledup bang opposite the wigmaker's. Dash me, if it weren't a swellturnout!--horse, coachman, and all, in real slap-up style. It waited solong that I thought it had taken root there."

  "Come, get on! Was there any one inside?"

  "I should think there was! I twigged him at once, by the descriptionyou gave me. I never see a cove togged out as he was,--tall hat, lightsit-down-upons, and a short coat--wasn't it cut short! but in reallybang-up style. To be certain, I went right up to him, for it was gettingdark, and had a good look at him. He had got out of the trap, and wasmarching up and down the pavement, with an unlighted cigar stuck in hismouth. I took a match, and said, 'Have a light, my noble swell?' andhanged if he didn't give me ten centimes! My! ain't he ugly!--short,shrivelled up, and knock-kneed, with a glass in his eye, and altogetherprecious like a monkey."

  Daddy Tantaine began to grow impatient with all this rigmarole. "Come,tell me what took place," said he angrily.

  "Precious little. The young swell didn't seem to care about dirtying histrotter-cases; he kept slashing about with his cane, and staring atall the gals. What an ass that masher is! Wouldn't I have liked to havepunched his head! If you ever want to hide him, daddy, please think ofyours truly. He wouldn't stand up to me for five minutes."

  "Go on, my lad; go on."

  "Well, we had waited half an hour, when all at once a woman came sharpround the corner, and stops before the masher. Wasn't she a fine gal!and hadn't she a pair of sparklers! but she had awfully seedy togs on.But they spoke in whispers."

  "So you did not hear what they said?"

  "Do you take me for a flat? The gal said, 'Do youunderstand?--to-morrow.' Then the swell chap, says he, 'Do you promise?'and the gal, she answers back, 'Yes, at noon.' Then they parted. Shewent off to the Rue Hachette, and the masher tumbled into his wheelbox.The jarvey cracked his whip, and off they went in a brace of shakes. Nowhand over them five francs."

  Daddy Tantaine did not seem surprised at this request, and he gave overthe money to the young loafer, with the words, "When I promise, I paydown on the nail; but remember Toto Chupin, you'll come to grief oneday. Good-night. Our ways lie in different directions."

  The old man, however, lingered until he had seen the lad go off towardthe Jardin des Plantes, and then, turning round, went back by the wayhe had come. "I have not lost my day," murmured he. "All theimprobabilities have turned out certainties, and matters are goingstraight. Won't Flavia be awfully pleased?"