"Yes, yes; that might be so with Amar or Couthon, but not with André Grégoire."

"Tiens!" said the thief, "what is this? 'André'? This order is signed 'Alphonse Grégoire.' The citizen must have been absent-minded. Look!"

Grégoire flushed. "True, true. I will write a second. I was troubled."

François stood still, received the second order, and, saying, "Au revoir, citizen," was about to leave, when a thought seemed to strike him. He paused. "There is here a ci-devant marquis you may recall—Ste. Luce."

"Well?"

"Put his name at the foot of the file of the accused and keep it there. Get a clerk to do it. The citizen is aware that it is done every day."

"Impossible! Art thou insane? I run risk enough with thy order and passport. But this I dare not do. There are limits."

"Do it, or I throw up my bargain. By Heaven, I am in earnest! Come, what will it cost? Will one hundred louis d'or do the business?"

Grégoire reflected. What more simple than to say yes, pocket the money, and let things take their course?

"I will do it for that—I mean I can have it done."

"Then give me ten minutes."

"I will wait."

The rich throughout these evil days were allowed to have in prison as much money as they could get from without. About March of this sad year they were told that they must feed the poorer captives, and were regularly assessed. François was aware that the marquis was well provided. He found him in the garden, and asked him to step aside.

"I am free, monsieur," he said. "No matter how. And I have bargained for your own head." He briefly related so much of his talk with Grégoire as concerned the marquis.

Ste. Luce looked at him. "Pardie! You are an unusual type of thief—or man. I would thank you if I considered my head worth much. But, after all, it is a natural attachment one's body has for one's head, or one's head for one's body, to put it correctly. Will it be wasted money, my admirable thief, or will the rascal keep his word?"

"Yes; he will keep his word—after we get through with the affair."

"You are a great man, François, but I have not the money. I lost it last night to Delavigne. I will get the loan of it. Rather a new idea to borrow one's head! Wait a little." He came back in a few minutes. "It pretty well cleaned out two of them. Good luck to you; and if ever we are out of this hole, we must fence a little. By the way, I hear they took that poor devil Despard to-day. It is a relief. He bored me atrociously."

"Yes; they took him in your place, monsieur. It was to have been to-day—"

"To-day! In my place? Tiens! that is droll."

"Yes."

"But how—why?"

"No matter now. I will tell monsieur some day."

"Are you a magician, Master François?"

"I was. But I did not desire this man's death."

"And the guillotine will have him, and he will not be on hand to see me scared. Ciel! but it is strange. Alas! the disappointments of this mortal life! Good luck to you, and au revoir. I thank you."

A few minutes later, Grégoire, having carefully disposed of the gold about his ample person, escorted Citizen François to the outer door. The look with which the commissioner with the wart regarded the retreating back and the big ears of François was unfriendly, to say the least.

XXII

Wherein is told how François baits a crab-trap with the man of the wart.

François understood the risks of his position. For a time he was safe. After he gave up that precious paper he would be at Grégoire's mercy. "More or less," muttered the thief, with a laugh which set Toto to capering. He went toward the Seine, looked in the shop-windows, and had a bite and a good bottle of wine, for the marquis had insisted on giving him ten louis for his own use. About half-past eleven he turned into the Rue Perpignan, and rang the bell at No. 33 bis.

"Come, Toto," he said, as he went in. "We owe Mme. Quatre Pattes a little debt. Let us be honest and pay." He closed the door behind him, and heard the sharp voice of the concierge: "Who goes there? Speak, or I will be after thee." He drew back, and looked in through the glassed door of the Crab's room. He knew she would not sally out. Why should she? Her house was only a hive of thieves and low women, who were driven away when they could not pay, and who rarely plundered one another.

He had never before so carefully inspected his landlady. She was seated at a table, about to drink a cup of cocoa. The room, the table, the little well-swept hearth, were all as clean as care and work could keep them. The woman herself was no less neat than her surroundings, yet she seemed one who belonged to the sties of the Cité's lowest life. There was something strangely feline in the combination of animal appearance with the notable cleanliness of her patched clothes, her person, and her abode. Her back, bent forward from the waist, and rigid, forced her to turn her head up and to one side to attain a view of the face of man. The same need kept her red eyes wide open. The malady which caused this distortion had ceased to be active. It had scarcely affected her general health. Like many of those who have suffered from the more common forms of the disease which makes the hunchback, she possessed amazing strength.

Now, as François stood hesitating, watchful, she sat at table before him, intent on her meal, looking here or there for bread or salt, her head swaying from side to side.

"If she were to bite a man, he would be as good as dead," murmured the thief. "What is it she is like? Ah, 't is the vipers in the wood of Fontainebleau. Bonjour, maman," he cried gaily, as he went in.

Taken by a sharp surprise, she gripped at her two sticks on the table, but missed them. They fell clattering, and her shaky hands dropped on her lap. She lacked not courage. As she sat crouched, the bald head, red-eyed and vigilant, was held back to watch this enemy.

Toto ran in, and fawned at her feet.

"Enchanted to see you, maman." By this time she had her wits about her, and, hearing no accusing charges, felt more at ease.

"Come back again, art thou, my fine thief-bird? Did he fly to his nest? Ha! he knows who will take care of him. That sacré shoemaker it was who denounced thee. Didst thou think it was thy little maman? Thou didst scold me. But how didst thou get out?"

"Ah, no matter now," said François. "I have work on hand for thee. If I mistrusted thee, it is not here I should have come. Sometime we will have a little eau-de-vie and a pipe, maman, and I will tell thee all about it. Wouldst thou serve the republic, and be well paid for it? Here, take thy sticks; thou art fit for anything only when thou hast all thy four legs. Listen, now; and, to begin, thou canst read a little—enough to understand this passport, and this order from the Great Committee of Safety?"

She looked eagerly over the papers. "Yes, yes."

"And thou canst read this still better." He let a gold louis drop on the table. She put out a claw, and, failing through tremor to pick it up, drew it to the edge, and for a moment held it under her eyes; then she put it into her mouth, and, apparently satisfied, chewed on it, moving her lower jaw from side to side.

"A good purse, maman. It would be a bold man or a blind would steal thy head for the gold. Heads always lose in our France to-day; thy own is none too sure, maman."

"If thou art thinking to scare Quatre Pattes, it won't do. Ha! it won't pay." She looked as if it would not.

François saw that he had made a misplay. He laughed his best. "Nom de diable! thou didst like a joke once. No matter. My time is short. I expect a citizen in a few minutes. Is my old room empty?"

"Yes, and half the rest. I tell thee, mon fils, I have missed thee."

"Give me the key, and pen, ink, and paper. These will do. Thy ink is dry. A little water—so. I shall come down in a minute or two, and take the citizen up with me. After that I shall come down alone. The citizen will be locked up."

"Good. Will he be alive? I will have no tricks; they get one into trouble."

"Alive! Yes; he will howl."

"Ah, he will howl. What shall I get?"

"He will pay to get out."

"He will pay—how much?"

"One—two—three hundred francs."

"Pshaw! Paper?"

"No; gold. At four to-morrow—no later, no sooner—at four to-morrow thou wilt let him out; and, mind thee, Dame Quatre Pattes, this is business of the republic. What happens to him after he is let out is of no moment. He may very likely make a fuss; he is bad-tempered. Wilt thou take the risk?"

"I—Quatre Pattes? Three hundred francs! I?"

"If I return not to give further orders before twelve, thou mayst ask the municipals to be here at four. That will save trouble. He will then be in no way to swear thou hast his money. That may be the best plan. I have no mind to get thee into trouble. Now, hold thy tongue; and remember, it will be the little cripple Couthon who will reckon with thee if in this business thou dost fail."

"This is all very well if thou dost not return; but who will pay me if thou art of a mind to come and take him away thyself?"

"'T is a sharp old Crab," laughed François. "If I come for him, I promise thee he shall pay thee full rent; and here is his denier à Dieu, maman." He cast another louis in her lap. "If I come not by noon, get all you can, and denounce him as a suspect; but remember—not till four."

"Queue du diable! 'T is a fine transaction," cried the Crab, and knocked her sticks together for emphasis. "We will bleed him like a doctor; we will send in the bill under the door; and then—we will have some nice municipals for sextons. Ha! ha! It is well to have the credit on one's little carte de sûreté."

François assured her that the plan was good. At this point, however, she became suddenly suspicious. She stood crouching over her sticks, the snake-like head slowly moving from side to side, her eyes searching the thief's smiling face. "Why is the man to be kept? What is it?"

He expected this. "Ask Couthon the palsied that, thou imbecile. I will take him elsewhere. There are a dozen houses where they ask no questions. Yes or no?"

"Yes, yes!" Caution was put to sleep by greed; or, more truly, by want, which was nearing its extremity.

He felt secure. "If he should ring before I get down-stairs, let him wait. Now, the ink and key."

"Is he to make his will? Thou wilt not be long?"

"No; I want something that I left."

"Ah! thou didst leave something?"

"Yes, and thou didst not find it, maman. Fie, fie, for a clever woman! Well, if thou didst not find it, few could. Wait, now."

He went swiftly up-stairs with Toto, and unlocked the door, leaving the key outside in the lock. He put the writing-materials on a table. In the chimney, just within reach of his farthest touch, he found his pistol. It was not loaded, and he had no powder to recharge it. He laughed as, putting it behind him in his waist-belt, under his cloak, he descended the stair.

"All is right. Cordon, if you please," he cried from the hall. He had not waited outside five minutes when Grégoire appeared, in ordinary dress, without the official feathered hat or the scarf of a functionary. He was now sober enough, but uneasy, and looked about him as if fearing recognition.

"Come," said François. They mounted the ill-smelling stairway to the attic. Neither spoke. Once they were within the room, François said: "Sit down." He took a stool, placing himself between Grégoire and the door. "To business," he said, and slipped out the famous letter from Grégoire to De la Vicomterie. He glanced at it, laughing. "There are three or more heads in this," he said. "Robespierre would pay well for it, or Saint-Just. One might put it up at auction. There would be high bidding."

Grégoire said: "I have paid for it. Give it to me—give it to me!"

"No hurry, commissioner." The thief enjoyed the situation. "Let us talk a little. Let us make things a trifle safer. Have the kindness to write a receipt for one hundred louis d'or accepted by thee as security for the head of one Louis de Ste. Luce, ci-devant marquis."

"Not I!" cried Grégoire, starting up.

"Ah, I think thou wilt"; and, with this, François drew his quite harmless pistol, and cocked it.

"Dost thou mean to murder me? Help! help! Murder!"

François seized him by the throat and thrust him down on to the chair.

"The devil! Fat fool! must I really kill thee? Hold thy tongue. Toto," he said, "just look at this gentleman. He is afraid, a coward—he who has killed so many—so many brave men and women, who died and showed no fear. Keep the door, Toto. There, now, citizen; write it, and quick, too, or—"

"But it is my death."

"What do I care? It is certain death unless thou dost keep faith. Once the marquis is free, and I am secure, I will burn it. That is all. Thou art forced to trust me. The situation is simple, and rather different from what it was at nine this morning. Thou art trapped."

It was true, and Grégoire knew it. He drew his chair to the table, and wrote a few lines as the thief dictated. François added a request for a date. "Thou art not clever with a pen," he said; "thy hand shakes."

"I am a lost man!"

"No; by no means. But look out for my marquis. He ought to be very precious to thee, because—because if there should be any accident to him or to me, my friend will promptly place this harmless receipt in the hands of Saint-Just; and then—"

Grégoire sat in a cold sweat, saying at intervals: "I am lost. Let me go."

"Not quite yet. Give me ten louis."

"I—I can't. I left the money at home."

"Thou art lying. I heard it rattle when I shook thee. I might take it all. I am generous, just, like the incorruptible man with the green around his eyes, one Robespierre. Come, now."

Grégoire, reluctant, counted out the gold. "Let me go," he said. There were scarce left in him the dregs of a man. He rose, pale and tottering.

"Not quite yet, my friend. Thou wilt wait here a little while. Then a citizen hag will come up and let thee out. But be careful; no noise. The gentlemen who inhabit this mansion like not to be disturbed in their devotions. Moreover, they are curious, and generally inquisitive as to purses. Thou hast a few hours for reflection on thy sins. Pray understand that this little paper will be put in the hands of a friend of the marquis; I shall not keep it. The trap will be well set. Am I clear?"

The commissioner made no reply.

"I forgot," said Francis. "Here is thy letter. I keep my word. The receipt is enough."

The compromising document lay on the table, unnoticed by Grégoire. He fell back, limp and cowed, gripping the seat with both hands to save himself from slipping ont of the chair. The sweat ran down his face. When François, calling to the poodle, left him alone, he made no motion; he was like a beaten cur.

"Come, Toto," said François, as he locked the door. "That for his wart! It is not as big as it used to be, and it is not in the middle of his nose." He went down to the room of the concierge, and threw the key of his room in her lap.

"He is very quiet, thy patient up-stairs; he hath a chill."

Quatre Pattes, standing by, nodded, and looked up. "Is he alive? No lies, young man."

"Alive? Not quite; only well scared. Imagine thyself one day on the red stair, and the basket all ready, and so neat,—thou art fond of neatness,—all as clean as thy room; and the knife—"

"Shut up that big jaw! I am Quatre Pattes. Dost thou want to frighten me?"

"I? By St. Fiacre, no! I only want to let thee understand how the citizen on the fourth floor feels."

"He will bleed the better, my dear." She rattled the sticks, and looked up at François, her head swaying as the head of the cobra sways. She was still in some doubt as to this too ready pupil, whom she had taught so much. "Art thou trying to fool Mother Quatre Pattes?"

"Oh, stuff! Go up and speak to the man. But take care; this is no light matter to put thy claws into. The man will rage; but a day without diet will quiet him a good bit. Then thou canst begin to make thy little commercial arrangement."

"Two hundred—three hundred. No rags, no assignats."

"Might get four hundred, Mother Crabby. There will be two sides to the question."

The old woman laughed a laugh shrill and virulent.

"Two sides? I see—inside and outside. All right."

François stood in the doorway as she spoke.

"By-by, maman; and don't frighten him too much. Thy style of beauty is not to the taste of all men. Folks are really afraid of thee, maman. Don't make it a part of the bargain that he marry thee."

"Good idea, that! And when shall I see thee?"

"Possibly to-morrow; certainly within a week or so. I may have a few days' work for the committee in Villefranche—dirty country, filthy inns, not like thy room"; and he glanced at it. "I always do like to see how neat it is, and how clean. It would please Sanson. He is so particular; keeps things clean and ready—always ready."

"'T is true," said Quatre Pattes, and clattered away up the hall.

François heard her sticks on the stair, and her shrill laughter. "Thy cheese is poisoned, old rat," he said.

Once secure of the absence of his too observant landlady, François called to Toto and went out of the house. It was now about half-past one. No suspicious persons were visible. He had doubted this Grégoire. He had no mind to leave Paris, but when asking a passport he meant that Grégoire should think he had done so. He moved away, with the dog at his heels, and presently stood awhile in deep thought, at the end of the street. Grégoire was safe; he could harm no one for a day, and after that would be the last man in Paris to trouble François. Amar was to be feared, but that was to be left to chance and cautious care. Quatre Pattes? He smiled. "'T is as fine as a play, Toto. Here comes the last act. Can we go away and not see it?" He looked back. The shoemaker whom the Crab had wished him to denounce, with a view to the eternal settlement of her debts, was standing at his door in the sun, just opposite to No. 33 bis. It was a good little man, lame of a leg, hard-working and timid.

"It is not to be resisted, Toto. Come, my boy." He went back, and pulled the bell at No. 33 bis. No one answered. He rang three times, and became sure that, as he had anticipated, the Crab had at once gone up to see how much of truth there was in his statement.

Thus assured, he looked about him. He saw no one he had need to fear. He crossed the street, and spoke to the cobbler.

"Come into thy shop; I want to speak to thee." When within, he said: "I have been arrested, and let out—praise be to the saints! I have just now seen the old Crab. She owes thee money?"

"Not much."

"No matter. She has asked me to denounce thee, my poor friend. I came to warn thee."

The cobbler gasped. "Dieu! and my little ones! I have done nothing—I assure thee, nothing."

"Nor I, my friend. Now, listen. I am lucky enough to be in a little employment for the Great Committee. I mean to save thee."

"And canst thou do that?"

"Yes, yes. Something will happen to-morrow, about four o'clock; and after that no fear of the hag. I must see it; it is my business. Can I stay a day—I mean until then—in the little room here above thy shop?"

"Why not? The children are with my sister. They shall stay till to-morrow night."

He followed the overjoyed cobbler up to the room above his shop, sent him out to buy food and wine, and sat down to await events. The cobbler came back with a supply of diet and the gazettes. François sat behind the slats of the green window-shades, and laughed, or talked to Toto, or read, while at intervals he watched No. 33 bis. He read of how Charleroi had been taken, and of the recovery of Fleurus. It interested him but little.

"They have cut off the head of the devil, and got a new god, my good poodle. Tenes! Hold! Attention!" He saw Quatre Pattes clatter out. It was about 4 P.M. She had no market-net. She was decisively bent on some errand, and moved with unusual celerity, her back bent, her head strained upward to get a sufficient horizon.

"It is altogether pleasant, ami. She will not wait till twelve to-morrow. She has gone to denounce him. Get up. Here is a nice bite for thee. She is shrewd, our snake. If she plunders M. Grégoire,—and she will, too,—she knows what he will do when he is out. He will denounce her. The play is good, Toto. The money she will have, if we know her. But, mm ami, if he makes her believe through the door that he is the great Grégoire of the wart, and she lets him out, and is scared, and asks no pay, Toto, 't is nevertheless a scotched snake she will be. The Wart will want to be revenged for low diet and loss of the republic's time. Mordieu! Toto, let us bet on it."

He read his gazettes, and waited. At six that afternoon the Crab came home. At nine François went to bed. Twice he awakened, laughing; he was thinking about Grégoire. The cobbler came in at six with breakfast, and François warned him to be careful.

At ten in the morning Quatre Pattes appeared at her door, and chatted with one or two dames of the fish-market. She rattled her sticks, and talked volubly. She was in the best of humors.

No new thing took place till three o'clock, when two municipal guards paused at her door. She came forth, spoke to them, and went in, leaving the door open. A third joined them. They loitered about. Ten minutes went by. François grew more and more eager as he watched.

"Ho, ho, Toto," he exclaimed, "there was a noise! The fool! she has gone up alone to let him out."

It was true. Grégoire had yielded in all some three hundred francs, and, as ordered, had slipped the money under the door, piece by piece, while Quatre Pattes sat and counted it with eyes of greed. She came down and hid the last of it. Now she went up again, rather liking the errand. She was absolutely fearless. She opened the door, and stood aside. "Come out," she said, "little man."

Grégoire was past restraining his rage. "She-devil!" he cried, and struck at her in a fury of passion. He ran past her down the stairs, the terrible woman after him. She was wonderfully quick, but the man's fear was quicker. At the last stairway she found him beyond her reach, and, cursing him in fluent slang of the quarter, she threw one of her sticks at him. It caught him on the back of the neck, and he fell headlong into the hallway. In an instant he was up and staggering into the street. As he came forth two guards seized him. "In the name of the law!" Quatre Pattes came swiftly after him, screaming out: "Take him! I denounce him! He is an aristocrat!"

What she and François saw was unpleasant for her.

"Nom de Ciel! 't is the Citizen Grégoire!" cried the third guard.

Grégoire was for an instant speechless and breathless. The guards fell back.

"Arrest me?—me, Grégoire! Have you an order to arrest me?" He was not quite at ease.

"No, no, citizen. It is clearly a mistake. We were to arrest a ci-devant."

Quatre Pattes stood up, pallid.

"Take this woman!" cried Grégoire. "I will send an order. The Châtelet, and quick!"

"The little trap did work," cried François, behind his screen. "How she squeals—like a pig, a pig! She will give up the money. The citizens and she disappear within."

"This woman stole it!" roared the great man, as they came out. "Take her away."

When they came to lay final hands on her, she was like a cat in a corner.

"Chien de mon âme! 't is a fine scrimmage," cried François, "and the street full."

The sticks rattled; and when they were torn from her, she used tooth and claw, to the joy of a crowd appreciative of personal prowess. At last she was carried away, screaming, and exhausted as to all but her tongue.

The commissioner with the wart readjusted his garments and his dignity. The crowd cried: "Vive Grégoire!" and the hungry Jacobin went his way, furious, in search of dietetic consolation.

"The show is over, Toto," said François, as he sat down.

Presently came the cobbler, curious, and much relieved.

"Ask no questions," said François. "Here is a little money."

"But, citizen, it is a gold louis."

"The show was worth the price of admission. Thou art welcome. Hold thy tongue, if thou art wise. At dusk I shall slip out. Thou art safe. The Crab will denounce no more of her neighbors."

"Two she hath sent to the knife," said the cobbler.

"Dieu! how the tricoteuses will grin!"

XXIII

Of how François found lodgings where he paid no rent—Of the death of Toto—Of how his master, having no friends on the earth, finds them underground.

At dusk François went out, and was soon moving rapidly across Paris. He was in search of lodging, food, and security. In an hour or less he was in the half-peopled quarter of St. Antoine. Near the barrier he turned aside, and stood considering a little house in what seemed to have been a well-kept garden. On the gate was the large red seal of the republic. It was safe for a night. If he took a lodging, he must show all his papers, and have his name set out, with his business, on a placard such as was nailed to the outer door of every house in Paris. His name, as a new lodger, must be reported to the sectional committee. He was widely known, and, alas! too peculiar to escape notice long. Now he needed time to think. He wandered awhile, ate in a small café, bought wine and bread, at night climbed the garden wall, and without much trouble found his way into the house. It was a sorry sight. The arrests must have been sudden and pitiless. The kettle stood on the dead embers. The bread, burned black, was in the oven. A half-knit stocking lay on a chair. Up-stairs and down, it was the same. The open drawers showed evidence of search. A dead bird lay starved in a cage. The beds were unmade. The clock had stopped. He found some scant provisions, unfit for use. It seemed a gardener's house. The place oppressed him, but it answered his purpose. His dog troubled him. Toto was, like himself, conspicuous, and he felt forced during the daytime to leave him locked up in the house. But Toto was sagacious, and had learned to keep quiet. For several days François lived at daylight in the streets and cafés, returning at night, to get away again before dawn. In the quiet little taverns where he went for food and shelter he made himself small, and hid in corners; nor, at this time, did he laugh much. He bought the gazettes, and read them with intelligent apprehension of the fact that change was in the air. Robespierre had never had with him a majority of his colleagues, and now he was becoming more and more conscious of his insecure hold on the Convention. As long as the ex-nobles or the foes of the republic suffered, it was of little moment to the representatives; but when the craving for blood, not justified by any political reasons, sent too many of their body to the block, the unease of the Terror began to be felt within their own hall. To be timid, cautious, or obscure had once been security. It was so no longer. That terrible master still had his way, and, one by one, the best brains of the opponents of the Jacobins were sent to perish on the scaffold. The Convention began to feel the need for associative self-defense. Revenge, fear, and policy combined to aid the enemies of this extraordinary person. Like Marat, he began to show physically the effects of a life full of alarms; for this monster dreaded darkness, trembled at unusual noises, and remained to the last the most carefully dressed man in Paris. To understand him at all, one must credit him in his early political life with a sincere love of country, and with willingness to sacrifice himself for others. It is impossible to regard him as entirely sound of mind at a later date. He became something monstrous—a mixture of courage, cowardice, blood-madness, self-esteem, and personal vanity. But there were men who loved him to the last.

It was now early in July, the month Thermidor. François began, as usual, to weary of a life of monotonous carefulness. His supply of money was ample. He was well fed and, so far, safe. He sat night after night in darkness, and thought of the lady of the château. He knew that her father was thus far secure; his name was not in the daily lists of the victims; and these were many, for on the 22d Prairial (June 10) a decree deprived the accused of counsel, and of the right to call witnesses. The end was near.

One evening about nine, as he came near to the garden, he saw lights in the house. Toto was found waiting outside of the gate. A girl came forth, and soon returned with a net of vegetables.

"Ciel! Toto," said François, "the poor things have been released, and thou wert clever to get out. We are glad, thou and I; but they have our house." He had left nothing at this lodging, having nothing to leave. He walked away, puzzled, and, wandering, scarce aware of whither he went, found himself at last in the Rue de Seine. It was getting late, and he began to look about him for a new lodging.

"We must find an empty house, Toto. The seal of this cursed republic is our best chance." He did not need to look far. In the Rue de Seine he came upon a small two-story shop. Beside it was a wide gateway, on which he saw with difficulty, but felt readily, the seal no one dared to violate. He concluded that there must be a deserted house beyond it, in a garden. He passed around by the quai, and entered the Rue des Petits-Augustines, and stood before the mansion of Ste. Luce. A light was in an upper room. Some one was in charge. On either side were railings and a garden. It was now ten o'clock, and no one visible in the long street of old houses, once the homes of the great French nobles. He pushed the poodle between the rails, and readily pulled himself up and dropped at his side. Once within, he moved with care across to the wall behind the mansion, and soon saw that he was not in the garden of the marquis, but in the larger domain of the Duc de la Rochefoucauld-Liancourt. His object was to find his way into the house which had an outlet on the Rue de Seine. As he was arranging his clothing to climb a tree near to the wall, he suddenly paused. "Toto," he exclaimed, "we have been robbed,—we—first-class thieves,—and we know not when it was. Ah, it was at that café, as we came out. Well done, too. Not a sou. Weep, Toto; we are broken."

He lost no more time in lamentation, but climbed the tree, looked over, came down, pulled up the dog, and descended on the farther side of the wall.

He was now in a small garden. Near him, and close to the wall, was a little plant-house. On the farther side of a grassy space stood a hotel of moderate size, with the front court, as he presumed, opening on the Rue de Seine. On each side, as he saw clearly, for the night was bright and the moon rising, there were high flanking walls. After assuring himself that the house was empty, François found a trellis covered with old vines, and, climbing this, entered the hotel by a convenient balcony. He was safe for the night, and at leisure to explore his new dwelling. He feared to strike a light, but he could see dimly that there were pictures, books, china. Evidently this had been the home of people of wealth. As the moon rose higher, he saw still better, and began to realize the fact that here were evidences of hasty flight. In a room on the second floor was a secretary, and this François readily opened.

"Toto," he said, "we are rich again." He had found forty louis in a canvas bag which comfortably fitted his side pocket. In the larder he came upon meat, cooked and uncooked, mostly unfit for use, stale bread, and cheese. Once satisfied, he went over the house, and then the garden, taking pains at last to set a ladder against the wall of the Rochefoucauld property.

The glass-house was in disorder, the plants lying about, uncared for. His foot struck an iron ring attached to a trap-door. There were staples for padlocking it, but no padlock. He concluded this to be the opening to a wine-cave or -cellar, and lifted the trap. It was dark below. He ventured down the steps a little way, and then stood still to listen. Hearing noises below him, he retreated in haste. He was, as has been said, superstitious.

"That is strange! We will look about when it is day, Toto—not now."

Concluding to sleep out of doors, he accordingly arranged for his comfort by taking a pillow and blankets from the house; for now he had opened a door below, and was in full possession. Suites of apartments which he dared not use for sleep, and a pretty little library, overlooked the small estate of the garden.

No occupied dwelling was in view. Great trees in the grounds of La Rochefoucauld and Ste. Luce partially hid the houses, and, what was of more moment, shut off the sight of François's refuge. It was, of course, possible that at any time he might be disturbed by the coming of the officers, or, what was to be feared less, that of the owners. But he was not a man to be continually anxious. The outer front door had a bar, and this he dropped into its socket. The side walls were high. He could hear any one who attempted to enter. His way out at the back was made easy by the ladder he had set in place. At dusk he began to be fully at ease, and after a day or two was hardly less so in the sun-lit hours.

On the morning of the third day, much at home, he sat behind the little plant-house, with Toto at his feet, and a book in his hand, for in the library he found several which excited his interest. Now he was deep in a French translation of the travels of Marco Polo. Suddenly he heard a noise of steps. He fell back, caught Toto with a warning grasp on the jaw, and lay still. He was so hidden in the narrow space between the plant-house and the wall of the garden as to be for the time secure. No longer hearing anything alarming, he rose and looked cautiously through the double glass and the sheltering plants which were between himself and the mansion. In a few minutes a tall man came out of the plant-house, went into the dwelling, and by and by returning with blankets and a basket, passed into the plant-house, and was lost to sight. He soon came out again with a lad, and after several such journeys to the main house, whence each time he fetched something, they reëntered the plant-house, and came forth no more.

This incident greatly amazed the thief. "Toto," he said, "there must be a trap below! 'T is a lower cellar it leads to, and there are people beneath. Hélas, Toto! no sooner are we gentlemen with an estate than, presto! a change, and it is get up and go. It were better we took to the woods and saw far countries, like this M. Polo." Toto regarded his master with attentive eyes, the long black tail wagging. He seemed to comprehend François's difficulties, or at least to feel some vague desire to help and comfort.

"Yes, yes; it is time we settled down, mon ami. Behold, we get a little money and wherewithal to live; we hurt no one; we cultivate our minds with travel; we start fresh, and are honest, having enough,—which is a good foundation for honesty,—and then—eh bien! my friend; let us laugh"; and he lay on his back, and tumbled the dog about.

He was in the garden, near to the dwelling, a day later, when he heard noises as of steps in the La Rochefoucauld grounds. He climbed the ladder, and, without showing himself, listened. There were voices, and now and then he caught a phrase. These were municipal guards. He beckoned to Toto, and, crossing the garden, entered the house, meaning to watch his new neighbors from a window.

He went up-stairs to the third story under the roof. As he moved toward a window, he heard a sound below. He ran down the stair, and stood on the lower landing-place, facing the front door. "We are gone, Toto!" For once he was at a loss, and stood still, in doubt what to do.

There were voices outside. The hall door had been unlocked, but the bar held it fast. After a minute or two they seemed to have given up the idea of entering. François waited a few minutes, and began to descend the stairs. Then he heard quick footfalls in the room to the left on the level of the landing above him. Some one must have entered by a window on the second floor. He turned, perplexed, instinctively drew his useless pistol, and began to go faster. Suddenly the steps above him quickened.

A man on the staircase landing behind him cried: "Halloo! Surrender, in the name of the republic!" François jumped, taking the stairs below him in one leap, but, tripping over Toto, fell headlong in the hall. The dog sprang after him, and alighted on his master's back. A pistol-shot rang out. The dog fell dead with a ball in his brain. François was on his feet. He cast a glance at the faithful friend of many a day. His own long, strange face became like that of a madman. He dashed up the stair, a second ball missing him narrowly. Through the smoke he bounded on his enemy. He caught the man by the right arm, wrested the pistol from him, and, scarce feeling a blow from the fellow's left hand, struck him full in the face with the butt of the pistol. The blood flew, and the man staggered, screaming. A second blow and a third fell. Twisting his victim around, François hurled him down the stair.

"Beast!" he cried; and, leaping over him, stooped a moment, kissed the quivering little body of his friend, and, with tears streaming from his eyes, stood still. Loud cries from beyond the wall of the garden recalled his energies. The noise at the door was heard again. He ran out and across into the plant-house, pulled up the trap, and, descending, closed it. Then he stood puzzled. It was dark; he could see nothing. He fell on his knees, and began hastily to grope about until he felt an iron ring attached to the trap-door of what he presumed to be the entrance to a yet lower cellar.

"It is this or death," he muttered under his breath, and stood reflecting, having heard no sounds approaching overhead. Thinking it better to see and be seen by those below, he struck his flint on the steel, and, with the aid of a morsel of paper and his kindling breath, soon had a light. Then he saw near by a lantern with a candle within it. He lighted it, and held it in one hand. This done, he knelt again, and with a quick movement set open the trap-doorway. What he saw was a man and the muzzle of a pistol. The man cried out: "If you move, you are dead!"

"I am not a municipal, monsieur. I am only a thief. Let me come down, for God's sake! I am flying from those rascals who are in the house."

"I have half a mind to blow your brains out."

"Ciel! I hope you will not have a whole mind. It would only call those scoundrels. I stole a little from the house—I return it"; and he dropped the bag of louis. It fell on the head of a small boy below, unseen in the gloom. He howled lustily.

"Diantre! keep quiet!" cried the man.

"Oh, let him come down, duke; he is welcome." It was the voice of a woman out of the deep darkness. Tender and clear it was.

"Be quick, then, rascal! Down with you."

The thief waited for no second invitation. The duke descended; François's long legs came after. He paused to arrange some loose staves, that, in falling, they might conceal the trap. Then he blew out the candle, and was in total darkness, but where or with whom he knew not.

"Have a care how you move," said the voice of the woman. "We are in great peril. Come down quietly."

"May all the saints bless you!" said François, and sat down on the lower step. For a while all was still.