The Mysteries of Paris. Эжен Сю

will bring your pocketbook."

      "And you shall have the five hundred francs I promised you, and we will agree in the other matter, if you are reasonable."

      "Now, you go to the right, and we to the left hand. Do not follow us, or else—"

      The Schoolmaster and the Chouette hurried off, whilst Tom and the countess went in the other direction, towards Notre Dame.

      A concealed witness had been present at this transaction; it was the Chourineur, who had entered the cellars of the house to get shelter from the rain. The proposal which Sarah made to the brigand respecting Rodolph deeply interested the Chourineur, who, alarmed for the perils which appeared about to beset his new friend, regretted that he could not warn him of them. Perhaps his detestation of the Schoolmaster and the Chouette might have something to do with this feeling.

      The Chourineur resolved to inform Rodolph of the danger which threatened him; but how? He had forgotten the address of the self-styled fan-painter. Perhaps Rodolph would never again come to the tapis-franc, and then how could he warn him? Whilst he was conning all this over in his mind, the Chourineur had mechanically followed Tom and Sarah, and saw them get into a coach which awaited them near Notre Dame.

      The fiacre started. The Chourineur got up behind, and at one o'clock it stopped on the Boulevard de l'Observatoire, and Thomas and Sarah went down a narrow entrance, which was close at hand. The night was pitch dark, and the Chourineur, that he might know the next day the place where he then was, drew from his pocket his clasp-knife, and cut a deep notch in one of the trees at the corner of the entrance, and then returned to his resting-place, which was at a considerable distance.

      For the first time for a very long while, the Chourineur enjoyed in his den a comfortable sleep, which was not once interrupted by the horrible vision of the "Sergeant's slaughter-house," as, in his coarse language, he styled it.

      CHAPTER VIII.

      THE WALK.

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      On the day after the evening on which the various events we have described had passed, a bright autumnal sun shone from a pure sky; the darkness of the night had wholly disappeared. Although always shaded by the height of the houses, the disreputable neighbourhood into which the reader has followed us seemed less horrible when viewed in the light of open day.

      Whether Rodolph no longer feared meeting with the two persons whom he had evaded the over-night, or did not care whether he faced them or not, about eleven o'clock in the morning he entered the Rue aux Fêves, and directed his steps towards the tavern of the ogress.

      Rodolph was still in a workman's dress; but there was a decided neatness in his costume. His new blouse, open on his chest, showed a red woollen shirt, closed by several silver buttons; whilst the collar of another shirt, of white cotton, fell over a black silk cravat, loosely tied around his neck. From under his sky blue velvet cap, with a bright leather peak, several locks of chestnut hair were seen; and his boots, cleaned very brightly, and replacing the heavy iron shoes of the previous evening, showed off to advantage a well-formed foot, which seemed all the smaller from appearing out of a loose pantaloon of olive velveteen. The costume was well calculated to display the elegant shape and carriage of Rodolph, which combined so much grace, suppleness, and power. The ogress was airing herself at her door when Rodolph presented himself.

      "Your servant, young man; you have come, no doubt, for your change of the twenty francs," she said, with some show of respect, not venturing to forget that the conqueror of the Chourineur had handed her a louis d'or the previous evening. "There is seventeen francs ten sous coming to you; but that's not all. There was somebody here asking after you last night—a tall gent, well dressed, and with him a young woman in men's clothes. They drank my best wine along with the Chourineur."

      "Oh, with the Chourineur, did they? And what could they have to say to him?"

      "When I say they drank, I make a mistake; they only just sipped a drain or so, and—"

      "But what did they say to the Chourineur?"

      "Oh, they talked of all manner of things—of Bras Rouge, and the rain, and fine weather."

      "Do they know Bras Rouge?"

      "Not by no means; the Chourineur told 'em all about him, and as how as you—"

      "Well, well, that is not what I want to know."

      "You want your change."

      "Yes, and I want to take Goualeuse to pass the day in the country."

      "Oh, that's impossible!"

      "Why?"

      "Why? Because she may never come back again. Her things belong to me, not including as she owes me a matter of ninety francs as a balance for her board and lodging, for the six weeks as she has lodged with me; and if I didn't know her to be as honest a gal as is, I should never let her go out of sight."

      "Goualeuse owes you ninety francs?"

      "Ninety francs ten sous; but what's that to you, my lad? Are you a-going to come 'my lord,' and pay it for her?"

      "Yes," said Rodolph, throwing five louis on the ogress's bar, "and what's your price for the clothes she wears?"

      The old hag, amazed, looked at the louis one after the other, with an air of much doubt and mistrust.

      "What! do you think I have given you bad money? Send and get change for one of them; but make haste about it. I say, again, how much for the garments the poor girl is wearing?"

      The ogress, divided between her desire to make a good harvest, her surprise to see a workman with so much money, the fear of being cheated, and the hopes of still greater gain, was silent for an instant, and then replied, "Oh, them things is well worth a hundred francs."

      "What! those rags? Come, now, you shall keep the change from yesterday, and I'll give you another louis, and no more. If I give you all I have, I shall cheat the poor, who ought to get some alms out of me."

      "Well, then, my fine fellow, I'll keep my things, and Goualeuse sha'n't go out. I have a right to sell my things for what I choose."

      "May Lucifer one day fry you as you deserve! Here's your money; go and look for Goualeuse."

      The ogress pocketed the gold, thinking that the workman had committed a robbery, or received a legacy, and then said, with a nasty leer, "Well, indeed! Why not go up-stairs, and find Goualeuse yourself; she'll be very glad to see you, for, on my life, she was much smitten with you yesterday?"

      "Do you go and fetch her, and tell her I will take her into the country; that's all you need say; not a word about my having paid you her debt."

      "Why not?"

      "What's that to you?"

      "Oh, nothing; it's no matter to me; I would rather that she still believed herself in my clutch—"

      "Will you hold your tongue, and do as I bid you?"

      "Oh, what a cross creetur you are! I pity anybody who is under you. Well, I'm going, I'm going;" and the ogress went up-stairs.

      After a few minutes she came down again.

      "Goualeuse would not believe me, and really turned quite crimson when she knew you were here; and when I told her that I would give her leave to pass the day in the country, I thought she would have gone crazy—for the first time in her life she was inclined to throw her arms about my neck."

      "That was her delight at leaving you."

      Fleur-de-Marie entered at this moment, dressed as she was the over-night, with her gown of brown stuff, her little orange shawl tied behind her, and her handkerchief of red checks over her head, leaving only two thick bands of light hair visible. She blushed when she saw Rodolph, and looked down with a confused air.

      "Would you