an, known as
la Biffe, were a most formidable couple, members of the swell-mob.
Riganson, on very distant terms with the police from his earliest years,
was nicknamed le Biffon. Biffon was the male of la Biffe--for nothing is
sacred to the swell-mob. These fiends respect nothing, neither the law
nor religions, not even natural history, whose solemn nomenclature, it
is seen, is parodied by them.

Here a digression is necessary; for Jacques Collin's appearance in the
prison-yard in the midst of his foes, as had been so cleverly contrived
by Bibi-Lupin and the examining judge, and the strange scenes to ensue,
would be incomprehensible and impossible without some explanation as to
the world of thieves and of the hulks, its laws, its manners, and above
all, its language, its hideous figures of speech being indispensable in
this portion of my tale.

So, first of all, a few words must be said as to the vocabulary of
sharpers, pickpockets, thieves, and murderers, known as Argot, or
thieves' cant, which has of late been introduced into literature with so
much success that more than one word of that strange lingo is familiar
on the rosy lips of ladies, has been heard in gilded boudoirs, and
become the delight of princes, who have often proclaimed themselves
"done brown" (floue)! And it must be owned, to the surprise no doubt of
many persons, that no language is more vigorous or more vivid than that
of this underground world which, from the beginnings of countries with
capitals, has dwelt in cellars and slums, in the third limbo of society
everywhere (le troisieme dessous, as the expressive and vivid slang of
the theatres has it). For is not the world a stage? Le troisieme dessous
is the lowest cellar under the stage at the Opera where the machinery
is kept and men stay who work it, whence the footlights are raised, the
ghosts, the blue-devils shot up from hell, and so forth.

Every word of this language is a bold metaphor, ingenious or horrible.
A man's breeches are his kicks or trucks (montante, a word that need not
be explained). In this language you do not sleep, you snooze, or doze
(pioncer--and note how vigorously expressive the word is of the sleep of
the hunted, weary, distrustful animal called a thief, which as soon as
it is in safety drops--rolls--into the gulf of deep slumber so necessary
under the mighty wings of suspicion always hovering over it; a fearful
sleep, like that of a wild beast that can sleep, nay, and sn