raitor
reached the house, Savard recognised him for a friend, and entertained
him with familiar speech. 'Is there anybody upstairs?' demanded Du
Chatelet. 'No,' replied Savard. 'Are the four women upstairs?' asked Du
Chatelet again. 'Yes, they are,' came the answer: for Savard knew the
password of the day. Instantly the soldiers filled the tavern, and,
mounting the staircase, discovered Cartouche with his three lieutenants,
Balagny, Limousin, and Blanchard. One of the four still lay abed; but
Cartouche, with all the dandy's respect for his clothes, was mending his
breeches. The others hugged a flagon of wine over the fire.

So fell the scourge of Paris into the grip of justice. But once under
lock and key, he displayed all the qualities which made him supreme. His
gaiety broke forth into a light-hearted contempt of his gaolers, and
the Lieutenant Criminel, who would interrogate him, was covered with
ridicule. Not for an instant did he bow to fate: all shackled as he was,
his legs engarlanded in heavy chains--which he called his garters--he
tempered his merriment with the meditation of escape. From the first he
denied all knowledge of Cartouche, insisting that his name was Charles
Bourguignon, and demanding burgundy, that he might drink to his country
and thus prove him a true son of the soil. Not even the presence of his
mother and brother abashed him. He laughed them away as impostors, hired
by a false justice to accuse and to betray the innocent. No word of
confession crossed his lips, and he would still entertain the officers
of the law with joke and epigram.

Thus he won over a handful of the Guard, and, begging for solitude, he
straightway set about escape with a courage and an address which Jack
Sheppard might have envied. His delicate ear discovered that a cellar
lay beneath his cell; and with the old nail which lies on the floor of
every prison he made his way downwards into a boxmaker's shop. But a
barking dog spoiled the enterprise: the boxmaker and his daughter
were immediately abroad, and once more Cartouche was lodged in prison,
weighted with still heavier garters.

Then came a period of splendid notoriety: he held his court, he gave an
easy rein to his wit, he received duchesses and princes with an air of
amiable patronage. Few there were of his visitants who left him without
a present of gold, and thus the universal robber was further rewarded by
his victims. His portrait hung in every house, and his th