n, to say nothing of your
wife--for you have a touch of the Regency about you, old boy!--That
comes of being such a fine man!"

Paccard colored under his sultan's ironical praises.

"You, Prudence," Jacques went on, "will want a career, a position, a
future; you must remain in my service. Listen to me. There is a
very good house in the Rue Sainte-Barbe belonging to that Madame de
Saint-Esteve, whose name my aunt occasionally borrows. It is a very good
business, with plenty of custom, bringing in fifteen to twenty thousand
francs a year. Saint-Esteve puts a woman in to keep the shop----"

"La Gonore," said Jacqueline.

"Poor la Pouraille's moll," said Paccard. "That is where I bolted to
with Europe the day that poor Madame van Bogseck died, our mis'ess."

"Who jabbers when I am speaking?" said Jacques Collin.

Perfect silence fell in the coach. Paccard and Prudence did not dare
look at each other.

"The shop is kept by la Gonore," Jacques Collin went on. "If that is
where you went to hide with Prudence, I see, Paccard, that you have
wit enough to dodge the reelers (mislead the police), but not enough to
puzzle the old lady," and he stroked his aunt's chin. "Now I see how
she managed to find you.--It all fits beautifully. You may go back to
la Gonore.--To go on: Jacqueline will arrange with Madame Nourrisson to
purchase her business in the Rue Sainte-Barbe; and if you manage well,
child, you may make a fortune out of it," he said to Prudence. "An
Abbess at your age! It is worthy of a Daughter of France," he added in a
hard tone.

Prudence flung her arms round _Trompe-la-Mort's_ neck and hugged him;
but the boss flung her off with a sharp blow, showing his extraordinary
strength, and but for Paccard, the girl's head would have struck and
broken the coach window.

"Paws off! I don't like such ways," said the boss stiffly. "It is
disrespectful to me."

"He is right, child," said Paccard. "Why, you see, it is as though the
boss had made you a present of a hundred thousand francs. The shop is
worth that. It is on the Boulevard, opposite the Gymnase. The people
come out of the theatre----"

"I will do more," said _Trompe-la-Mort_; "I will buy the house."

"And in six years we shall be millionaires," cried Paccard.

Tired of being interrupted, _Trompe-la-Mort_ gave Paccard's shin a kick
hard enough to break it; but the man's tendons were of india-rubber, and
his bones of wrought iron.

"All right, boss, mum it