ercourse.
I know the system well, for I was a _mouchard_ myself.'

'You a police spy, Jacques?'

'Ay, sir; I was appointed without knowing what services were expected
from me, or the duties of my station. Two months' trial, however, showed
that I was "incapable," and proved that a smart, _sous-offieier_ is not
necessarily a scoundrel. They dismissed me as impracticable, and made me
_garde-chasse_; and they were right, too. Whether I was dressed up in
a snuff-brown suit, like a bourgeois of the Rue St. Denis; whether they
attired me as a farmer from the provinces, a retired _maitre de poste_,
an old officer, or the _conducteur_ of a diligence, I was always Jacques
Gaillon. Through everything--wigs and beards, lace or rags, jackboots or
sabots, it was all alike; and while others could pass weeks in the Pays
Latin as students, country doctors, or _notaires de village_, I was
certain to be detected by every brat that walked the streets.'

'What a system! And so these fellows assume every disguise?' asked I, my
mind full of my late rencontre.

'That they do, monsieur. There is one fellow, a Provencal by birth, has
played more characters than ever did Brunet himself. I have known him as
a _laquais de place_, a cook to an English nobleman, a letter-carrier,
a flower-girl, a cornet-a-piston in the opera, and a cure from the
Ardeche.'

'A cure from the Ardeche!' exclaimed I. 'Then I am a ruined man.'

'What! has monsieur fallen in with Paul?' cried he, laughing. 'Was
he begging for a small contribution to repair the roof of his little
chapel, or was it a fire that had devastated his poor village? Did the
altar want a new covering, or the cure a vestment? Was it a canopy for
the Fete of the Virgin, or a few sous towards the "Orphelines de St.
Jude?"'

'None of these,' said I, half angrily, for the theme was no jesting one
to me. 'It was a poor girl that had been carried away.'

'Lisette, the miller's daughter, or the schoolmaster's niece?' broke he
in, laughing. 'He must have known you were new to Paris, monsieur, that
he took so little trouble about a deception. And you met him at the
"Charrette Rouge" in the Marais?'

'No; at a little ordinary in the Quai Voltaire.'

'Better again. Why, half the company there are _mouchards_. It is one of
their rallying-points, where they exchange tokens and information. The
labourers, the beggars, the fishermen of the Seine, the hawkers of old
books, the vendors of gilt ornaments,