Chapter VIII: The Wine Shop.--Scenes Among the Common People

On the first floor of a wine shop on Rue Saint-Lazare was a room containing several tables; the room was reached by a staircase, which started from the shop itself and ended almost in the middle of the room in question, which was frequented by drinkers who desired to be more at their ease than was possible below.

The room was ordinarily occupied by workmen, loafers, and an occasional peddler. The workmen, after a laborious day, came to the wine shop to take a modest meal and to rest their tired limbs; the others, after idling the greater part of the day, came thither to spend a large part of the night in the same occupation.

Those who had done no work, and consequently had earned nothing, generally spent the most money. Economy is almost always the companion of toil; dissipation, of idleness.

A journeyman mason sat at one of the tables, eating with evident enjoyment a piece of cheese, washed down with a mug of wine; the tempting invitations of his comrades were powerless to induce him to spend another sou, for he was determined to save money and not remain a mere journeyman all his days.

Near by sat a carpenter, with a red nose, bloated face, and eyes blinking with the vapors of wine; he had already emptied several bottles, and, instead of going home to his waiting family, was all ready to drink some more, inviting his acquaintances and even strangers to join him, in order to find an excuse for further tippling, aye, to spend the last sou of the wages he had just received, and for which his wife was waiting in order to buy bread for their children.

At another table was a man about fifty years of age, with gray hair and enormous whiskers, whose costume indicated no special profession. His chin was buried in a piece of ticking, which served him as a cravat; he wore a coat, but it was torn and patched and much too short for him; trousers whose color was no longer distinguishable, fastened behind with strings instead of buckles. On his head was a round hat, if the name can properly be given to a piece of felt torn in several places, and with only a few small fragments of brim. But all this did not prevent the individual in question from carrying his head erect, scrutinizing everybody who came in, drumming on the table with his knife by way of accompaniment to the songs he sang under his breath, and, in a word, making as much noise as many parties produced, although his repast consisted of only a glass of beer and a piece of bread.

Among the tables surrounded by customers, there was one at which a supper was being served that aroused the envy of most of the other occupants of the room: it was the table occupied by Sans-Cravate, his mistress, and the other two messengers.

The flower girl was seated beside Sans-Cravate, who ate, drank, laughed, talked, sang, and served his guests with food and drink--all without a moment's rest; at times, indeed, he succeeded in doing several things at once.

Mademoiselle Bastringuette did not seem to share her lover's merry humor; she ate heartily, but spoke very little. From time to time, she fixed her eyes on Paul, who sat opposite her; but he always avoided meeting them, the result being that he kept his own eyes on his plate much of the time.

Jean Ficelle sat opposite Sans-Cravate; he did honor to the supper, and handled his knife and fork with great dexterity; but that did not prevent his glancing constantly to right and left, and seeing everything that took place in the room.

"Who wants some rabbit--a little more of the _gibelotte_?" said Sans-Cravate, helping himself from an enormous dish, in which the party had already made a considerable breach. "No one speaks, so I help myself."

"Give me just a bit," said Jean Ficelle, passing his plate.

"That's right!" cried Sans-Cravate, as he helped his comrade; "you're all right, you are! You never lag behind at table. But Paul--what a sluggard! he don't eat, he hardly drinks;--are you sick, my boy?"

"No, indeed," Paul replied, with a smile; "but I am not very hungry."

"Monsieur has something on his mind, and that fills the stomach at the same time!" muttered Bastringuette, sucking a bone.

"Never mind," rejoined Sans-Cravate; "I don't propose to scold him, as long as he came, although he don't seem to be enjoying himself any too much with us."

"_Dame!_ we ain't in the dressmaking line, you know," said Bastringuette, in a sarcastic tone; "we don't help dress the swells, we don't spend the day in rooms with waxed and polished floors!"

"Do I?" said Paul, glancing sternly at Bastringuette.

"No; but you're acquainted with people that put on airs and wear gloves! Upon my word," continued Bastringuette, with a sigh, "I've a right good mind to change my trade. I'm not going to sell flowers any more; I'm going to fly higher."

"And sell oranges, eh?" said Sans-Cravate.

"Bah! better than that."

"Herrings, then?"

"What a fool! I tell him I'm going to rise in the world, and he wants me to lower myself to herring! I'm going to be a trousers maker, and save up money; save up money to buy a shop with. I sew well enough now, and I've always had a liking for trousers; that's not surprising, as my mother used to sell 'em under the pillars in the Market."

"Well, don't you worry, sun of my heart; if I often have days like to-day, I'll soon have enough nuggets to buy you a well-stocked shop."

"Oh, yes!" retorted Bastringuette, with a shrug; "all I've got to do is depend on you! it's surprising how you save money; you don't even know how to make people pay what they owe you----"

"What's that? does anyone owe you money?" cried Jean Ficelle, gazing at Sans-Cravate in amazement. "Do you mean to say you've got funds invested? have you had a legacy without telling a friend anything about it? Pass me some more rabbit, then."

"No, no! do you pay any attention to what Bastringuette says? she's talking about some people that I helped to move. There was mighty little to move, and it didn't tire me much; and then, I'd sawed half a cord of wood and done a few errands, so that they owed me six or seven francs, perhaps--a magnificent sum!"

"Oh, yes! it's always like that," rejoined the girl. "Look you--it was last winter; freezing cold, but bright sunlight, and I'd had an idea for a long time that I'd like to go by the railroad to Corbeil, and then take a walk in the forest of Fontainebleau, where they say there's snakes--and I'm very curious to see one, yes, and a big one, too; I've never been afraid of the beasts. So I says to Sans-Cravate: 'You're going to take me to Fontainebleau on the railroad, and we'll have a little spree down there in the country, on the grass; it'll be a little cold, but all the more fun for that; I like to eat and drink on the grass. It's a long time since I've been in the country, and it'll do me good.'--Sans-Cravate felt in his pocket, and found he had only five francs. I says: 'That's a little scant to do things up brown on the grass; we ought to have at least twice that. Let's see if there ain't some way of getting some more cash.'--At that, he says: 'I've got some customers that owe me something; among others that family that lives on the fifth in Rue des Martyrs, that I moved six months ago.'--'Well,' I says, 'if you wait any longer, they'll be moving again, and without your help this time. Go and get your money; a poor messenger has the right to ask for what's owing him, after six months.'--And I urged him so that he decided to go there, but what do you suppose he did?"

"Smashed everything to make 'em pay him," said Jean Ficelle; "at least, that's what I'd have done."

"Oh! no, you wouldn't," said Sans-Cravate; "if you'd seen the poverty of those poor people, you'd have done just what I did, for you couldn't have helped being touched. When I went into their room--they lived up under the eaves--it was near six o'clock in the morning; I found the man and his wife still in bed. They had old towels round their heads for nightcaps, that made 'em look like Turks. They had no bedclothes but an old quilt all full of holes, so they'd piled all their clothes on the bed--old dresses, a pair of trousers, and even old boots! all that to keep 'em warm! And then, in a recess, there was the child's bed--a pretty, red-cheeked little boy, two or three years old--I say, the bed, but it wasn't one! Guess what the child was lying in--an old muff, with hardly any fur left on it; they had stuffed the little fellow into that, and then taken out the drawer of a commode and put him in it for a bed. When he saw me come in, the man said: 'My dear friend, if you have come for what I owe you, I shall have to ask you to be kind enough to wait a little longer; for I've been out of work for a fortnight. We lie in bed as long as possible, because we haven't got anything to make a fire, and what is worse is that I don't know just now what we're going to breakfast on to-day!'--I'd just like to know if I could ask those people for money! I tried to comfort 'em a little, and then I went away."

"That's very well, but he don't tell you the whole story," cried Bastringuette; "he not only didn't ask 'em for what was owing him, but he left on that poor man's mantelpiece the only five-franc piece he owned; so, instead of bringing back twice what he had, so that we could have some fun, he came back without a sou!"

Paul seized Sans-Cravate's hand and shook it warmly, crying:

"Ah! that was fine, Sans-Cravate! that was a fine thing you did! you have a warm heart, you're a good fellow!"

"Oh! _pardi!_ what a fuss over nothing!" rejoined the messenger, filling his glass; "of course, that little fellow in the muff had to have some breakfast! My credit's good at the wine shop, you see, so I could wait."

"If all creditors acted like that," muttered Jean Ficelle, "trade would be pretty bad.--I say, Laboussole, if your creditors gave you five francs, that would suit you down to the ground, eh?"

This apostrophe was addressed to the individual with the striped cravat, who had long since finished his beer, but was still chewing his bread and beating the table with his knife as if he were playing a drum. He thrust out his chin toward his interlocutor, and replied with a sprightly air:

"I should be a millionaire! as it is, I'm strapped. What do you expect? you see that every day! and I've known what it is to eat roast veal and lettuce, and to drink all the wine I wanted. We all have our ups and downs [_bas_]."

"But he hasn't any stockings [_bas_], just now," murmured Bastringuette, after a glance at Laboussole; "that fellow looks to me like an old pickpocket."

"Not at all," said Jean Ficelle; "he's a man who used to have great talent in his line. But, you see, he has had hard luck."

"What was his line?"

"He was an inspector at the Market."

"The devil! that's a good place; why did he lose it?"

"Oh! they put up a dirty game on him--stuffed fish and chickens in his pockets, and then said he stole 'em--a low-down trick, I say! One day, when he had a salmon in one pocket and a turkey in another, they had the cheek to arrest him and dismiss him for it."

"Couldn't the man tell when he had fish about him?" said Bastringuette.

"Apparently not; there's so much of it at the Market that you walk on it."

"All the same, his innocence looks to me almighty muddy! What does he do now?"

"He sells tickets for the _Belle-en-Cuisse_ ball, on Rue des Martyrs, near the barrier. But when there's no ball, he's _smoked_, and that's the case to-day."

"I say, old boy, won't you have a drink with us?" said Sans-Cravate, raising his glass toward Laboussole, who accepted the invitation as soon as he understood it, and brought his glass to the messengers' table, saying:

"I never refuse a drink of wine."

Bastringuette made an angry gesture, and muttered between her teeth:

"What a stupid fool that Sans-Cravate is! As if we wanted that old fossil! But as soon as he has a shiner or two, he's for treating everybody he sees; so he don't keep 'em long!"

Paul seemed no better pleased than Bastringuette to be at the same table with the ex-inspector, and he moved his chair away from that gentleman's, who thereupon seized the opportunity to move close to the table; and drawing toward him the dish of rabbit, in which only the head remained, he began to lap it with his tongue, humming:

"'When a man knows how to love and please,
What other blessing does he need?'"

"Well, I think we'll have a little dessert," said Sans-Cravate; "we mustn't stop at rabbit stew.--Come, Bastringuette, what do you want for dessert?"

"Sausage with garlic," replied the girl.

"Agreed!--Here, waiter! four sausages with garlic, and see that they're spiced in the good old style--no, five, for Laboussole will take care of one--eh, old boy?"

"I never refused a sausage," replied that individual, continuing his perquisitions into every cavity of the rabbit's head.

"Good God! you're eating the eyes!" cried Jean Ficelle, who was watching Laboussole at work.

"I'd eat yours, if you was stewed. I'm very fond of that tidbit."

The sausages were brought. Each guest took one, except Paul, who declared that he was not hungry. Whereupon Jean Ficelle assumed his bantering air, and remarked:

"They ain't sweet enough for him."

And Bastringuette added:

"Perhaps his skirt cutter don't like the taste of garlic!"

"I say, comrade, you don't keep up your end!" cried Sans-Cravate, forcing Paul to let him fill his glass. "Don't you enjoy being with your friends?"

"There's no doubt about it," said Jean Ficelle; "Paul's acting damned queer. Anyone would say that it made him sore to be at the wine shop with us."

"Why do you attribute such thoughts to me?" rejoined Paul; "am I any different from you two? What am I but a messenger, like you? As for the wine shop, as I come here very seldom, it's not surprising that I don't seem so much at home as you."

"You say you don't come to the wine shop often?" cried Laboussole, eating his sausage with great zest. "You make a mistake, young man; the wine shop's the only place where one can enjoy life. It's the rendezvous of good company. I'd like never to leave it, myself!"

Paul made no reply, but turned his back on Laboussole, while Jean added maliciously:

"_Dame!_ a man don't go to the wine shop when he can play the swell! and I'm told that friend Paul has been seen now and then in a fine rig, with a hat instead of a cap."

"Oho!" cried Sans-Cravate, emptying his glass; "how's that, comrade, do you play the swell now and then?"

"It's all a mistake," murmured Paul, evidently annoyed by the question.

"I've got good eyes, myself," said Laboussole, tilting his remnant of a hat over one ear. "Yes, I saw our friend, not more than a week ago, in the Marais, and he was dressed a good deal like a wholesale grocer."

"Aha! aha!" said Bastringuette, fastening her great black eyes on Paul's face; "are you a prince disguised as a messenger? It seems to me that I've heard some such fairy tale as that. If that's so, and you want to make my fortune, don't be bashful--I'll accept."

"I am nothing more than I appear to be," replied Paul, with a sigh; "but I have good eyes, too, and I saw monsieur in front of a game of chance under Pont d'Austerlitz."

The ex-inspector was evidently embarrassed, and tried to pull his hat over his eyes; he glanced at Jean Ficelle and rejoined in a hoarse voice:

"That may be! What is there surprising in that? A man goes out for a stroll, and stops in front of any show he sees. That's the way we sail down the river of life."

"Come, let's drink and sing!" cried Sans-Cravate. "What's the odds how a man's dressed, or where he walks? Ain't we our own masters? ain't liberty as much for one man as another?"

"That's my opinion," replied Laboussole, holding out his glass, the contents of which he swallowed with the facility of an Englishman drinking champagne. "You're what I call a man, you are, Sans-Cravate! and I'm your friend from this minute."

"I don't doubt it!" muttered Bastringuette; "he's anybody's friend who'll treat him--eh, Paul? Well, Cupid, why don't you answer, instead of looking at the floor like a girl? Don't you know it's indecent not to look at a woman when she speaks to you?"

Paul seemed not to hear, and made no reply. As for Sans-Cravate, the frequent bumpers he had drunk were beginning to excite his brain and becloud his eyes. He did not notice the glances that his mistress bestowed upon her vis-à-vis; but Jean Ficelle, who saw everything, smiled malignantly as he muttered between his teeth, though loudly enough for Sans-Cravate to hear:

"What infernal traitors women are! If I had a mistress, I'd never take her into company, unless there was nobody else there."

"Well," observed the shabbily clad guest, attacking the sausage Paul had refused, "business don't seem to be very bad, my friends, for your life is watered with wine."

"I had a good evening," said Sans-Cravate; "fifteen francs for one errand!"

"Peste! is it a duke and peer that you work for, my friend?"

"No; but a young man who lives well! _Bigre!_ that's the kind of a spark I like. He's open-handed, I tell you!"

"He ain't like mine," said Jean Ficelle; "he flung me a paltry two-franc piece for trotting about more than two hours."

"Mine gave me even less than that," said Paul; "and yet I had to wait a long while in several places."

"Ah! my patron's the boy for me," continued Sans-Cravate; "he's a jolly fellow, and a good one, too! He enjoys himself and wants other people to do the same. Yes, he's a good fellow; let's drink to the health of Monsieur Albert Vermoncey."

"That's the talk! Here's to him!"

"Well, Paul, aren't you going to drink?"

"I'm not thirsty."

"Does that prevent your drinking? Come on!"

"No; I've no desire to get drunk."

"Bah! what a soft-head! You're not a man, then; you're an old woman! As if a man ever refused to drink with friends!"

"No, no," said Jean Ficelle, who was doing his best to set Sans-Cravate against his young comrade; "he insults us."

"A man never refuses to drink," said Monsieur Laboussole, touching his glass to Paul's; but the young messenger took his glass and threw it on the floor, saying:

"I don't choose to drink with you, I say!"

The man with the shapeless hat seemed to view this rebuff with indifference, and contented himself with the retort:

"Young man, he who breaks glasses--you know the rest, don't you?"

But Sans-Cravate, inflamed by the wine he had drunk, sprang to his feet, crying:

"_Sacrédié!_ I don't like such manners myself, and if it had been anybody else---- But you'd better not do it again, or----"

"Well, what?" cried Bastringuette, rising also, and planting herself in front of Sans-Cravate; "are we going to kick up a row? If we are, why, I'll make more noise than you! Who ever heard of getting mad with a friend because he didn't want to drink? Ain't Paul his own master? For my part, I say he's quite right not to get drunk like you people! When you're drunk, you're just like brutes, you're good for nothing but fighting; and if you think anybody loves you, why, you're damnably mistaken!"

"See how she takes his part!" exclaimed Jean Ficelle; "if you was in love with the man, it wouldn't be any worse."

"If I'm in love with anyone," retorted Bastringuette, "it ain't with you, that's sure!"

Sans-Cravate, who was getting more and more excited, and whose jealousy was beginning to blaze under the influence of Jean Ficelle's hints and malicious remarks, seized the girl's arm, as she stood beside him, and shook her roughly.

"It seems to me, also," he cried, "that you take up my comrade's defence much too warmly! Do you know, I don't like that. Does it mean that you're inclined to play tricks on me?"

Bastringuette, with a violent wrench, released her arm from the hand that held it; and snatching a plate from the table, held it over Sans-Cravate's head, as if to strike him with it. Her face was pale, her eyebrows drew together, her eyes flashed fire. There was in her wrath something which embellished her features and almost imparted distinction to them; everyone was impressed, and Sans-Cravate stood perfectly still, apparently resigned to receive the threatened blow.

"I ought to break this plate over your head," said Bastringuette; "yes, that I ought, to teach you to shake my arm like that! If I still loved you, I'd do it; but as I don't love you any more, I forgive you."

As she spoke, she put the plate back on the table. Sans-Cravate glanced at her with a disturbed expression, and said in a faltering tone:

"Ah! you don't love me any more?"

"No," rejoined Bastringuette, dwelling upon every word. "I am outspoken. I don't propose to play tricks on you, as you seem to fear. But from this moment I am not your mistress; I take back my liberty."

"What! do you mean it?"

"Oh! I don't make any mystery of it, you see; I say it right out before everybody."

"But----"

"But what? We ain't bound together in such a way that we can't separate. Would you rather have me do like the women in society? stay with you, when I don't love you, and deceive you all day? That ain't my style."

"If you don't love me any more, then you must love somebody else!"

"_Pardi!_ that's easy to guess!" muttered Jean Ficelle.

"No matter who I love! it's none of your business! Love whoever you please! I don't care a hair of monsieur's whiskers!"

And the tall girl pointed to Laboussole, who smiled and caressed his whiskers, saying:

"All women don't talk that way."

"Ah! so that's how it is!" cried Sans-Cravate, emptying his glass; while Bastringuette resumed her seat at the table, apparently much calmer. "All right! as you choose! To the devil with love, and women! Let's have a drink, my friends; let's have a drink!"

"But it's late," said Paul; "I hear them closing downstairs. Aren't we going now, Sans-Cravate?"

"Go, if you choose--I am going to stay, with my friends, with my true friends!" retorted Sans-Cravate, glaring angrily at the young man.

"No; you are going with me; you have had enough to drink; you mustn't get drunk!"

"What business is it of yours, if it suits me to get drunk? I'm my own master, too. I haven't any woman now to bother me, and bore me to death. _Crédié!_ how I will make things hum now!"

"That will be very pretty!" murmured Bastringuette. "He'll do some fine things. For my part, I don't want anything more to do with men who make beasts of themselves with drink! I prefer a sober lover--they're more refined in their love making."

"Drink! drink! more wine, waiter!" cried Sans-Cravate, determined to befuddle himself still more, in order to avoid manifesting his chagrin over his rupture with his mistress.

"That's the talk!" said Jean Ficelle. "Sound men never sulk! Let the maggoty ones go! we can do without 'em!"

"O my friends!" cried Laboussole, in a sentimental tone, "when we are so comfortable together, we mustn't think of separating; let's stay here a week--what do you say? Good! we will!"

Paul leaned over toward Bastringuette, and said in an undertone:

"You are responsible for Sans-Cravate's getting drunk. He is drinking to forget the grief you have caused him by telling him that you meant to leave him! and it may result in some catastrophe."

"What do I care? I'm done with him. I don't love him any more; I love somebody else, and that somebody else is you."

Paul drew back without replying. At that moment, they heard roars of laughter in another part of the room, where the red-nosed carpenter, surrounded by drinkers, was saying:

"Yes. I'll bet I can do it. Yes, I say, I'll bet I can, and that nobody else'll do it after me. Bah! you're a pack of cowards, you don't dare to bet!"

"Ah! there's Cagnoux up to his tricks!" said Jean Ficelle; "challenging everybody, as usual."

Sans-Cravate left his place and walked to the carpenter's table.

"What is it you're going to do that the others won't do?" he asked. "That's a pretty good one! Do you think there's no cocks here of your size, Cagnoux?"

"That's so," muttered Laboussole, emptying all the bottles into his glass; "yes, we're up to anything, we are! you'd better not defy us."

The carpenter, who was completely drunk, succeeded in getting on his feet, nevertheless; and trying hard to stand without staggering, raised an enormous glass and said:

"You see this glass, don't you? holds a pint. Just fill it with brandy, and I'll empty it at one draught; there ain't one of you smart enough to do as much."

"Parbleu! that's a wonderful thing," cried Sans-Cravate; "to drink that glassful of brandy; that ain't very hard."

"Sans-Cravate is quite capable of trying it," said Jean Ficelle, who also had left his seat, to join the bystanders. "Yes, I know him; he'll do it. If I hadn't a pain in the stomach, I'd do it myself."

"I'll bet six quarts for the company that I'll drink that glassful of brandy at one draught, without stopping for breath; do you take me, old Cagnoux?"

"Done!" replied the carpenter; "shake."

Sans-Cravate stepped forward to take the hand that Cagnoux held out; but that worthy, being unable to keep his legs any longer, fell back on his chair, and the messenger's hand struck him on top of the head and knocked his old cap over his nose. This episode was greeted with shouts of laughter. The carpenter laughed with the rest, and, having extricated himself from his cap, exclaimed:

"Bring the brandy, and, if he loses, I'll make the same bet."

Thereupon Paul rose, and, paying no heed to Bastringuette, who asked him if he would not go away with her, ran to Sans-Cravate and grasped his hand.

"Sans-Cravate, surely you're not going to take that bet. You are not going to be crazy enough to drink that enormous glassful of brandy!"

"Why not, I'd like to know?" rejoined the messenger, withdrawing his hand. "If I choose to do it, is it any of your business? Go and court Bastringuette, and leave us in peace!"

"You know very well that I am not in love with your mistress."

"Oh! she ain't my mistress any more; it's all one to me whether she's yours or not."

The tone in which Sans-Cravate spoke indicated that he was not so indifferent as he claimed to be with respect to the flower girl's becoming Paul's mistress; but the younger man tried to take his comrade's hand again, saying:

"Come, come, let's not say anything more about Bastringuette! Your quarrel with her is none of my business; and, besides, you'll make it up to-morrow. But I beg you not to drink that enormous quantity of brandy; it is very dangerous; it may kill you!"

"Bah! and if it does, I don't care!"

"The bet is taken! it's too late to back out," said Jean Ficelle, rubbing his hands.

"Yes, a bet's a sacred thing," observed Monsieur Laboussole, who had at last decided to leave the table, on which there was nothing more to drink, and join the crowd around Sans-Cravate and Cagnoux. "I don't know anything more sacred than a bet! Once I bet that I'd eat a tremendous great fried carp, with all its bones. When I'd put down about three-quarters of it, I found I was strangling; but I'd made the bet, so I kept on. I tore my throat with a bone, and it was sore for six months; but I won the bet, which was ten sous, and my honor was safe!"

The waiter appeared with a huge measure of brandy; while he was filling the mammoth glass, Paul went up to Sans-Cravate once more, and said to him:

"I am less excited than the others, and I am your friend; for heaven's sake, listen to me!"

"You're not my friend any more; besides, you broke your glass rather than drink with me--I haven't forgotten that."

"It wasn't you that I didn't want to drink with; it was Laboussole, and you'll see later whether I was right or not."

At that moment, there was a general cry of:

"The glass is full! Come, Sans-Cravate, now's the time to show what you're made of!"

"Here I am!" replied the messenger, roughly shaking himself clear of Paul's grasp and approaching the table on which stood the subject of the wager.

But Paul was too quick for him; he ran to the table, reached it first, and with the back of his hand knocked the glass to the floor, where it broke in a thousand pieces, and the brandy ran in all directions.

The young messenger's act was followed by a growl of dissatisfaction and menace. Some of the bystanders seemed to be dazed by the bare idea that a man could make up his mind to waste such an enormous quantity of the precious liquid; and Monsieur Laboussole, heedless of the danger of staining his trousers, instantly dropped on all fours, and, putting his tongue to the boards, tried to lap up a part of it.

But Sans-Cravate, beside himself with rage and crazy with drink, rushed at Paul and seized him around the waist, saying in a threatening tone:

"That's an insult! You meant to keep me from winning my bet, but you've got to give me satisfaction! We are going to fight, do you hear? Look out for yourself, for I shall strike hard!"

"Yes, yes!" shouted Jean Ficelle; "he insulted Sans-Cravate, he insulted Cagnoux, he insulted all of us, by breaking that glass. He must have a licking! we must give him a lesson! that will teach him to behave better in a wine shop."

And Monsieur Laboussole, still lapping the brandy on the floor, added in a voice half stifled by his attitude:

"We must beat him; or else make him pay for twice the quantity of brandy for the company."

Thereupon Bastringuette stepped into the midst of the men who surrounded the young messenger, and, planting herself in front of him, cried:

"Is the whole lot of you going to take sides against him? That's brave of you--a dozen against one! I tell you not to lay a finger on him, or I'll scratch all your eyes out!"

But Sans-Cravate pushed the girl aside with a turn of his wrist.

"He ain't going to fight any twelve men, but just me alone," he said.--"Come on, are you ready?"

"No," replied Paul, who had remained perfectly calm amid all the uproar, "no, I won't fight with you."

"Then you're a coward!"

"I am not a coward. Let any other man come forward, and I'll agree to fight with him; but not with you, Sans-Cravate, for you're out of your head now, and to-morrow you'll be sorry that you struck your friend."

"Ah! he's crawling! he's crawling!" cried Jean Ficelle. "He wants to make us think Sans-Cravate has drunk too much."

"I am the one you made a fool of by breaking that glass, and you've got to fight with me!" repeated Sans-Cravate. "_Crédié!_ come on, and have done with it, or I'll knock you down!"

The powerful messenger shook his fist at Paul, who remained unmoved and seemed to have determined not to avoid the blow; while all the men who stood about drew back to leave more room for the combatants, upon whom every eye was fixed.

But an unforeseen incident interrupted the scene. Heavy, measured steps were heard in the wine shop below, followed by the sound of muskets striking the floor; at the same instant, the waiter appeared at the top of the stairs, with a terror-stricken air, crying:

"The watch! here's the watch! they're coming up here!"

"The watch!" muttered several of the bystanders; "what are they doing here?"--"It isn't twelve o'clock."--"We have a right to drink."--"I won't go away, for one."

"They've come for something else," said the waiter; "there's two detectives with the soldiers; they've come to arrest someone, I suppose."

The workmen and the drunkards seemed but little affected by the news. But Monsieur Laboussole, who was still on all fours, crawled under a table, although there was no brandy there.

The soldiers and detectives came upstairs almost at the waiter's heels. They entered the room, leaving two soldiers to watch the stairway.

"Why in the devil do you come here and disturb us?" demanded Sans-Cravate. "We've no business with you. I'd like to know if we ain't at liberty to drink and sing, and quarrel a little too, if we want to?"

The detectives, who had already scrutinized everybody in the room, did not answer Sans-Cravate; but one of them went to the table under which the ex-inspector of the Market had taken refuge, and dragged him forth from his hiding-place by the legs.

"This is the gentleman we're looking for," he said.--"Come, up with you! you must go with us!"

"Messieurs," cried Laboussole, trying to bury his nose in his cravat, "this is a mistake, I assure you; I must be the victim of an unfortunate resemblance. I know more than twenty men who look like me."

"No, no, you're the man we want; come, off you go--and step lively!"

"What are you arresting this man for?" demanded Sans-Cravate; while Jean Ficelle pulled him by the jacket and whispered in his ear:

"Defend him! thrash the curs! you're strong enough."

"Because he's a thief!" replied the detective, pushing Laboussole toward the stairs.

Paul glanced at Sans-Cravate, who turned pale and neither moved nor spoke. The word _thief_ had sobered him in an instant.