ch he escapes to Ostend,
(intending to embark for America,) where he is decoyed by a _soi-disant_
ship-broker, and loses all his ill-gotten wealth. He then resolves to
betroth the sea, though not after the Venetian fashion, by giving her
a dowry; the "sound of a trumpet" disturbs his attention, as it would
of any other hero. But this proves to be the note of Paillasse, a
merry-andrew. The "director," as the opera bills would say, was
Cotte-Comus, belonging to a troop of rope-dancers.

He next joins a player of Punch, to whose wife he enacts Romeo with
better grace, and during one of the representations, the married people
break each others heads, and Vidocq runs off during the affray. He then
becomes assistant to a quack doctor, and the favoured swain of an
actress; gets into the Bourbon regiment, where he is nicknamed Reckless,
and kills two men, and fights fifteen duels in six months. His other
exploits are as a corporal of grenadiers, of course, a deserter, and
a prisoner of the revolution. He then marries, but does not reform.
Of course a wife is but a temporary incumbrance to a man of Vidocq's
dexterity. In chapter iii, we find him at Brussels, where he joins a set
of nefarious gamblers at the _Cafes_, and has a most romantic adventure
with a woman named Rosine. But we can follow him no further, except to
add that his other comrades in Vol. I, are gipsies, smugglers, players,
galley-slaves, drovers, Dutch sailors, and highwaymen.

We must, therefore, confine ourselves to a few detached extracts from
the most interesting portion of the volume. At Lille, Vidocq meets with
a _chere amie_, Francine; he suspects her fidelity, thrashes his rival,
gets imprisoned, and is betrayed as an accomplice in a forgery. His
"reflections" during his imprisonment in St. Peter's Tower, bring on
a severe illness.]

I was scarcely convalescent, when, unable to support the state of
incertitude in which I found my affairs, I resolved on escaping, and
to escape by the door, although that may appear a difficult step. Some
particular observations made me choose this method in preference to any
other. The wicket-keeper at St. Peter's Tower was a galley-slave from
the Bagne (place of confinement) at Brest, sentenced for life. In
a word, I relied on passing by him under the disguise of a superior
officer, charged with visiting St. Peter's Tower, which was used as
a military prison, twice a week.

Francine, whom I saw daily, got me the requi