an egotistical philosopher, who thieved to provide for the
future, was a good deal like Paccard, Jacques Collin's satellite, who
had fled with Prudence Servien and the seven hundred and fifty thousand
francs between them. He had no attachment, he condemned women, and loved
no one but Fil-de-Soie.

As to le Biffon, he derived his nickname from his connection with
la Biffe. (La Biffe is scavenging, rag-picking.) And these three
distinguished members of _la haute pegre_, the aristocracy of roguery,
had a reckoning to demand of Jacques Collin, accounts that were somewhat
hard to bring to book.

No one but the cashier could know how many of his clients were still
alive, and what each man's share would be. The mortality to which
the depositors were peculiarly liable had formed a basis for
_Trompe-la-Mort's_ calculations when he resolved to embezzle the funds
for Lucien's benefit. By keeping himself out of the way of the police
and of his pals for nine years, Jacques Collin was almost certain to
have fallen heir, by the terms of the agreement among the associates,
to two-thirds of the depositors. Besides, could he not plead that he had
repaid the pals who had been scragged? In fact, no one had any hold
over these _Great Pals_. His comrades trusted him by compulsion, for the
hunted life led by convicts necessitates the most delicate confidence
between the gentry of this crew of savages. So Jacques Collin, a
defaulter for a hundred thousand crowns, might now possibly be quit for
a hundred thousand francs. At this moment, as we see, la Pouraille,
one of Jacques Collin's creditors, had but ninety days to live. And la
Pouraille, the possessor of a sum vastly greater, no doubt, than that
placed in his pal's keeping, would probably prove easy to deal with.

One of the infallible signs by which prison governors and their agents,
the police and warders, recognize old stagers (chevaux de retour), that
is to say, men who have already eaten beans (les gourganes, a kind of
haricots provided for prison fare), is their familiarity with prison
ways; those who have been _in_ before, of course, know the manners and
customs; they are at home, and nothing surprises them.

And Jacques Collin, thoroughly on his guard, had, until now, played his
part to admiration as an innocent man and stranger, both at La Force and
at the Conciergerie. But now, broken by grief, and by two deaths--for
he had died twice over during that dreadful night--he was