e walked on tiptoe by his companion's side till they would have been
long past sight or hearing of the conciergerie, even had the inhabitants
devoted themselves to the purposes of spying or listening.

"'Chut!' said Pierre, at last. 'She goes out walking.'

"'Well?' said Monsieur Morin, half curious, half annoyed at being
disturbed in the delicious reverie of the future into which he longed to
fall.

"'Well! It is not well. It is bad.'

"'Why? I do not ask who she is, but I have my ideas. She is an
aristocrat. Do the people about here begin to suspect her?'

"'No, no!' said Pierre. 'But she goes out walking. She has gone these
two mornings. I have watched her. She meets a man--she is friends with
him, for she talks to him as eagerly as he does to her--mamma cannot tell
who he is.'

"'Has my aunt seen him?'

"'No, not so much as a fly's wing of him. I myself have only seen his
back. It strikes me like a familiar back, and yet I cannot think who it
is. But they separate with sudden darts, like two birds who have been
together to feed their young ones. One moment they are in close talk,
their heads together chuckotting; the next he has turned up some
bye-street, and Mademoiselle Cannes is close upon me--has almost caught
me.'

"'But she did not see you?' inquired Monsieur Morin, in so altered a
voice that Pierre gave him one of his quick penetrating looks. He was
struck by the way in which his cousin's features--always coarse and
common-place--had become contracted and pinched; struck, too, by the
livid look on his sallow complexion. But as if Morin was conscious of
the manner in which his face belied his feelings, he made an effort, and
smiled, and patted Pierre's head, and thanked him for his intelligence,
and gave him a five-franc piece, and bade him go on with his observations
of Mademoiselle Cannes' movements, and report all to him.

"Pierre returned home with a light heart, tossing up his five-franc piece
as he ran. Just as he was at the conciergerie door, a great tall man
bustled past him, and snatched his money away from him, looking back with
a laugh, which added insult to injury. Pierre had no redress; no one had
witnessed the impudent theft, and if they had, no one to be seen in the
street was strong enough to give him redress. Besides, Pierre had seen
enough of the state of the streets of Paris at that time to know that
friends, not enemies, were required, and the man had a bad air a