the next morning, before five o'clock, he was wandering about the
Rue d'Amsterdam peering into the wine-shops in search of some railway
porter. It did not take him long to find one, and having done so, he
made him the best of friends in less than no time. Although this porter
knew nothing about the matter himself, he took Chupin to a comrade who
remembered handling the baggage of an old lady bound for London, on the
evening of the sixteenth. However, this baggage was not put into the
train after all; the old lady had left it in the cloak-room, and the
next day a fat woman of unprepossessing appearance had called for the
things, and had taken them away, after paying the charges for storage.
This circumstance had been impressed on the porter's mind by the fact
that the woman had not given him a farthing gratuity, although he had
been much more obliging than the regulations required. However, when
she went off, she remarked in a honeyed voice, but with an exceedingly
impudent air: "I'll repay you for your kindness, my lad. I keep a
wine-shop on the Route d'Asnieres, and if you ever happen to pass that
way with one of your comrades, come in, and I'll reward you with a
famous drink!"

What had exasperated the porter almost beyond endurance, was the
certainty he felt that she was mocking him. "For she didn't give me her
name or address, the old witch!" he growled. "She had better look out,
if I ever get hold of her again!"

But Chupin had already gone off, unmoved by his informant's grievances.
Now that he had discovered the stratagem which Madame Ferailleur had
employed to elude her pursuers, his conjectures were changed into
certainties. This information proved that Pascal WAS concealed somewhere
in Paris; but where? If he could only find out this woman who had called
for the trunks, it would lead to the discovery of Madame Ferailleur and
her son but how was he to ascertain the woman's whereabouts? She had
said that she kept a wine-shop on the Route d'Asnieres. Was this true?
Was it not more likely that this vague direction was only a fresh
precaution?

This much was certain: Chupin, who knew every wine-shop on the Route
d'Asnieres, did not remember any such powerful matron as the porter had
described. He had not forgotten Madame Vantrasson. But to imagine any
bond of interest between Pascal and such a woman as she was, seemed
absurd in the extreme. However, as he found himself in such a plight and
could not afford to le