"She is, perhaps, a trifle quick-tempered; but in reality she has a good
heart."

"Then, if you were so happy at the Widow Chupin's house, why did you fly
from it?"

Toinon the Virtuous turned scarlet to the very roots of her hair. "I
left for other reasons," she replied. "There were always a great many
drunken men about the house; and, sometimes, when I was alone, some of
them tried to carry their pleasantry too far. You may say that I have a
solid fist of my own, and that I am quite capable of protecting myself.
That's true. But while I was away one day some fellows were wicked
enough to make this child drink to such an excess that when I came home
I found him as stiff and cold as if he were dead. It was necessary to
fetch a doctor or else--"

She suddenly paused; her eyes dilated. From red she turned livid, and in
a hoarse, unnatural voice, she cried: "Toto! wretched child!"

Lecoq looked behind him, and shuddered. He understood everything. This
child--not yet five years old--had stolen up behind him, and, ferreting
in the pockets of his overcoat, had rifled them of their contents.

"Ah, well--yes!" exclaimed the unfortunate mother, bursting into tears.
"That's how it was. Directly the child was out of my sight, they used to
take him into town. They took him into the crowded streets, and taught
him to pick people's pockets, and bring them everything he could lay his
hands on. If the child was detected they were angry with him and beat
him; and if he succeeded they gave him a sou to buy some sweets, and
kept what he had taken."

The luckless Toinon hid her face in her hands, and sobbed in an almost
unintelligible voice: "Ah, I did not wish my little one to be a thief."

But what this poor creature did not tell was that the man who had led
the child out into the streets, to teach him to steal, was his own
father, and her husband--the ruffian, Polyte Chupin. The two detectives
plainly understood, however, that such was the case, and the father's
crime was so horrible, and the woman's grief so great, that, familiar as
they were with all the phases of crime, their very hearts were touched.
Lecoq's main thought, however, was to shorten this painful scene. The
poor mother's emotion was a sufficient guarantee of her sincerity.

"Listen," said he, with affected harshness. "Two questions only,
and then I will leave you. Was there a man named Gustave among the
frequenters of the Poivriere?"

"No, sir, I'm quite sure