his knees and his face hidden in his
hands, as if he felt the necessity of concealing the expression of his
face from the passers-by. Undoubtedly, at that moment, he gave himself
up for lost. Alone in the midst of Paris, without a penny, what was to
become of him? He knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he was being
watched; that his steps were being dogged, that the first attempt he
made to inform his accomplice of his whereabouts would cost him his
secret--the secret which he plainly held as more precious than life
itself, and which, by immense sacrifices, he had so far been able to
preserve.

Having for some short time contemplated in silence this unfortunate man
whom after all he could but esteem and admire, Lecoq turned to his old
companion: "What did he do on the way?" he asked.

"He went into the shops of five dealers in second-hand clothing without
success. Then he addressed a man who was passing with a lot of old
rubbish on his shoulder: but the man wouldn't even answer him."

Lecoq nodded his head thoughtfully. "The moral of this is, that there's
a vast difference between theory and practise," he remarked. "Here's a
fellow who has made some most discerning men believe that he's only
a poor devil, a low buffoon. Well, now he's free; and this so-called
Bohemian doesn't even know how to go to work to sell the clothes on
his back. The comedian who could play his part so well on the stage has
disappeared; while the man remains--the man who has always been rich,
and knows nothing of the vicissitudes of life."

The young detective suddenly ceased moralizing, for May had risen from
his seat. Lecoq was only ten yards distant, and could see that his face
was pallid. His attitude expressed profound dejection and one could read
his indecision in his eyes. Perhaps he was wondering if it would not
be best to return and place himself again in the hands of his jailers,
since he was without the resources upon which he had depended.

After a little, however, he shook off the torpor that had for a time
overpowered him; his eyes brightened, and, with a gesture of defiance,
he left the steps, crossed the open square and walked down the Rue de
l'Ancienne-Comedie. He strode onward now with the brisk, determined step
of a man who has a definite aim in view.

"Who knows where he is going now?" murmured Father Absinthe, as he
trotted along by Lecoq's side.

"I do," replied the young detective. "And the proof is, that I am goin