The cab stopped.

Jean bounded up the steps as one endowed with superhuman strength.

Placing his charge within, he mounted by her side.

"Faubourg St. Honore!" he commanded. "And good speed and safe arrival is worth ten francs to you, my man!"

If Jean had followed his first idea and turned to the left instead of to the right he would have met some of his late revolutionary comrades returning, in boisterous spirits, to Le Pet.i.t Rouge.

"Parbleu!" exclaimed Villeroy, throwing himself into a chair, "but I believe every police agent in Paris has trodden on my corns this day!"

"For my part," said young Ma.s.sard, a thin, pale, indolent young man scarcely turned twenty-one, "I don't see much fun in being hustled, shoved, kicked, pounded----"

"But, Armand," interrupted the third man, "think of the fun you have afforded the other fellow!"

This speaker was known as the double of Jean Marot, only some people could not see the slightest resemblance when the two were together,--Lerouge being taller, darker, more athletic in appearance, and more serious of temper.

"I say, Lerouge, I don't think your crowd of Dreyfusardes got much pleasure out of us to-day," put in Villeroy, dryly.

"We got some of it out of the police, it is true," said Lerouge. Henri Lerouge was half anarchist, socialist, and an extremist generally, of whom French politics presents a formidable contingent.

Armand Ma.s.sard thoughtfully helped himself to a pipe of tobacco from the grim tabatiere on the table. Politics was barred at Le Pet.i.t Rouge, and Lerouge was known to be rather irritable. On the subject of the police these young fellows were unanimous. The agents were considered fair game in the Quartier Latin.

"I've had enough of them for this once, George," yawned Ma.s.sard.

"And they've had enough of us probably," suggested Villeroy.

"It is lively,--too much,--this continued dodging the police----"

"Together with one's creditors----"

A loud double rap startled them.

"Mordieu!" exclaimed that young man, leaping to his feet, "that's one now! Don't open!"

Again the peremptory raps, louder than before. There was also a clank of steel.

"Police agents or I'm a German!" said Villeroy.

Henri Lerouge, a contemptuous smile on his handsome face, arose to admit the callers.

"Wait!" whispered Ma.s.sard,--"one moment! Madame la Concierge shall receive them."

This idea tickled the young men exceedingly. They had little to fear from the police, unless it was the chance identification on the Place de la Concorde. But these things are rarely pushed.

Madame la Concierge was quickly arranged, her candle lighted. Then the other light was turned down.

When the door was slowly opened four police officers, headed by the commissary of the quarter, entered.

But they stopped abruptly on the threshold. The hideous skeleton with the candle confronted them. A sepulchral voice demanded,--

"Who knocks so loudly at an honest door?"

It is no impeachment of the courage and efficiency of the Paris police to say that the men recoiled in terror from this horrible apparition.

So suddenly, in fact, that the two agents in the rear were precipitated headlong down the short flight. The other two vanished scarcely less hastily. A fifth man, who had evidently been following the agents at a respectful distance, received the full impact of the falling bodies, and with one terrified yell sank almost senseless on the stair.

This man was the cabman who had brought Jean Marot to Le Pet.i.t Rouge.

The veteran commissary, however, flinched only for an instant. Having served many years in the Quartier Latin, he was no stranger to the pranks and customs of medical students. The next instant he had his foot in the doorway, to retain his advantage, and was calling his men a choice a.s.sortment of Parisian names. To emphasize this he entered and gave Madame la Concierge a kick that caused her poor old bones to rattle.

"For shame!" cried young Ma.s.sard, laughingly, turning up the light.

"To kick an old woman!"

"Now here, gentlemen, students,--you are a nice lot!"

"Thanks! Monsieur le Commissaire," replied Lerouge, with a polite bow.

"You are quite aware, gentlemen," continued the stern official, "that you are responsible at this moment for any injury to my men?"

"No, monsieur," retorted Lerouge in his dry fashion; "but, if any bones are broken we'll set 'em."

"Free of charge," added Villeroy.

"I want none of your impudence, monsieur! What's your name?"

"George Villeroy, 7 Rue du Pot de Fer, medical student, aged twenty-four, single, born at Tours."

Well these young roysterers knew the police formula! Armand Ma.s.sard gave in his record at a nod. The veteran commissary wrote the replies down.

"And what is your name, monsieur?"

"Henri Lerouge, Monsieur le Commissaire."

"Ah! I think we have had the pleasure of meeting before this,"

observed the official. "A hundred francs that this is our man," he added under his breath. Then, turning to his men, who had stolen in, shamefaced, one by one,--

"Dubat!"

"Yes, monsieur." A keen-eyed agent stepped forward and saluted military fashion.

"Do you recognize one of these gentlemen as the man who crossed the Pont de Solferino this evening with something----"

"Yes, Monsieur le Commissaire,"--pointing promptly to Henri Lerouge,--"that's the man!"

"So. You may step aside, Dubat. Now where is that--oh! Monsieur Perriot?"

"Monsieur le Commissaire," responded the unhappy cabman, who had scarcely recovered from his mishap in the stairway. He limped painfully to the front.