g the bell.

A fat woman answered the door. "M. Perpignan is out," said she.

"When will he be back?"

"Some time this evening."

"Can you tell me where I can find him, as it is of the utmost importance
to both of us that I should see him at once?"

"He did not say where he was going to."

"Perhaps he is at the factory," said Tantaine blandly.

The fat woman was utterly taken aback by this suggestion. "What do you
know about that?" faltered she.

"You see I _do_ know, and that is sufficient for you. Come, is he
there?"

"I think so."

"Thank you, I will call on him then. An awfully long journey," muttered
Tantaine, as he turned away; "but, perhaps, if I catch the worthy man
in the midst of all his little business affairs, he will be more free in
his language, and not so guarded in his actual admissions."

The old man went to his task with a will. He passed down the Rue
Toumenon, skirted the Luxemburg, and made his way into the Rue Guy
Lussac; from thence he walked down the Rue Mouffetard, and thence direct
into one of those crooked lanes which run between the Gobelins Factory
and the Hopital de l'Oursine. This is a portion of the city utterly
unknown to the greater number of Parisians. The streets are narrow and
hardly afford room for vehicles. A valley forms the centre of the place,
down which runs a muddy, sluggish stream, the banks of which are densely
crowded with tanyards and iron works. On the one side of this valley is
the busy Rue Mouffetard, and on the other one of the outer boulevards,
while a long line of sickly-looking poplars mark the course of the
semi-stagnant stream. Tantaine seemed to know the quarter well, and
went on until he reached the Champs des Alouettes. Then, with a sigh of
satisfaction, he halted before a large, three-storied house, standing on
a piece of ground surrounded by a mouldering wooden fence. The aspect of
the house had something sinister and gloomy about it, and for a moment
Tantaine paused as if he could not make up his mind to enter it; but
at last he did so. The interior was as dingy and dilapidated as the
outside. There were two rooms on the ground floor, one of which was
strewn with straw, with a few filthy-looking quilts and blankets spread
over it. The next room was fitted up as a kitchen; in the centre was a
long table composed of boards placed on trestles, and a dirty-looking
woman with her head enveloped in a coarse red handkerchief, and grasping
a big wooden