ed in thought, his legs, obeying
an instinctive impulse, had brought him to his lodgings. He rang the
bell; the door opened, and he groped his way slowly up to the fourth
floor. He had reached his room, and was about to enter, when some one,
whom he could not distinguish in the dark, called out: "Is that you,
Monsieur Lecoq?"

"Yes, it's I!" replied the young man, somewhat surprised; "but who are
you?"

"I'm Father Absinthe."

"Oh! indeed! Well, you are welcome! I didn't recognize your voice--will
you come in?"

They entered the room, and Lecoq lit a candle. Then the young man could
see his colleague, and, good heavens! he found him in a most pitiable
condition.

He was as dirty and as bespattered with mud as a lost dog that has been
wandering about in the rain and the mire for a week at the very least.
His overcoat bore the traces of frequent contact with damp walls; his
hat had lost its form entirely. His eyes wore an anxious look, and his
mustache drooped despondently. He spoke, moreover, so strangely that one
might have supposed his mouth was full of sand.

"Do you bring me bad news?" inquired Lecoq, after a short examination of
his companion.

"Yes, bad."

"The people you were following escaped you, then?"

The old man nodded his head affirmatively.

"It is unfortunate--very unfortunate!" said Lecoq. "But it is useless
to distress ourselves about it. Don't be so cast down, Father Absinthe.
To-morrow, between us, we will repair the damage."

This friendly encouragement only increased the old man's evident
embarrassment. He blushed, this veteran, as if he had been a schoolgirl,
and raising his hands toward heaven, he exclaimed: "Ah, you wretch!
didn't I tell you so?"

"Why! what is the matter with you?" inquired Lecoq.

Father Absinthe made no reply. Approaching a looking-glass that hung
against the wall, he surveyed himself reproachfully and began to heap
cruel insults upon the reflection of his features.

"You old good-for-nothing!" he exclaimed. "You vile deserter! have you
no shame left? You were entrusted with a mission, were you not? And how
have you fulfilled it? You have got drunk, you old wretch, so drunk as
to have lost your wits. Ah, you shan't escape punishment this time, for
even if M. Lecoq is indulgent, you shan't taste another drop for a week.
Yes, you old sot, you shall suffer for this escapade."

"Come, come," said Lecoq, "you can sermonize by and by. Now tell me your
story."