ode. Luck seemed for
the moment to have turned in Lecoq's favor. At all events, when he and
Father Absinthe alighted at the corner of the street, it so happened
that the very first person the young detective questioned concerning the
virtuous Toinon was well acquainted with her whereabouts. The house
in which she resided was pointed out, and Lecoq was instructed to go
upstairs to the top floor, and knock at the door in front of him. With
such precise directions the two detectives speedily reached Madame
Polyte Chupin's abode.

This proved to be a cold and gloomy attic of medium size, windowless,
but provided with a small skylight. A straw pallet, a broken table,
two chairs, and a few plain kitchen utensils constituted the sole
appointments of this miserable garret. But in spite of the occupant's
evident poverty, everything was neat and clean, and to use a forcible
expression that fell from Father Absinthe, one could have eaten off the
floor.

The two detectives entered, and found a woman busily engaged in making
a heavy linen sack. She was seated in the centre of the room, directly
under the skylight, so that the sun's rays might fall upon her work. At
the sight of two strangers, she half rose from her chair, surprised,
and perhaps a little frightened; but when Lecoq had explained that they
desired a few moments' conversation with her, she gave up her own seat,
and drawing the second chair from a corner, invited both detectives to
sit down. Lecoq complied, but Father Absinthe declared that he preferred
to remain standing.

With a single glance Lecoq took an inventory of the humble abode,
and, so to speak, appraised the woman. She was short, stout, and of
commonplace appearance. Her forehead was extremely low, being crowned by
a forest of coarse, black hair; while the expression of her large, black
eyes, set very close together, recalled the look of patient resignation
one so often detects in ill-treated and neglected animals. Possibly, in
former days, she might have possessed that fleeting attraction called
the _beaute du diable_; but now she looked almost as old as her wretched
mother-in-law. Sorrow and privation, excessive toil and ill-treatment,
had imparted to her face a livid hue, reddening her eyes and stamping
deep furrows round about her temples. Still, there was an attribute of
native honesty about her which even the foul atmosphere in which she had
been compelled to live had not sufficed to taint.

Her li