Now, when my dog was retrieving the third partridge, Paillet gave the prearranged signal. The figure of a gamekeeper appeared on the skyline, boldly defined against the white fleecy sky, like one of those shepherds or country rustics in huge leggings that Decamps or Jadin put in their landscapes, as a contrast to a lonely and twisted elm-tree.
The manœuvre had already been discussed. In an instant I was on horseback, spurring the horse with both heels, and carrying off with me the incriminating plunder. The dialogue between Paillet and the gamekeeper was lengthy and animated; but it ended as I had predicted. Paillet majestically drew a twenty-sous piece from the common purse, and our total expenditure had reached the sum of seven francs. That was our loss; but on the profit side of our account we had two hares and three partridges. Paillet joined me again; I remained on horseback and he took his turn at hunting. So we alternated. By ten o'clock in the morning we were at Dammartin, with three hares and eight partridges. Of the two gamekeepers we ran across since our last, one had loftily refused the twenty sous, the other had basely accepted. Our funds were now reduced to twenty-seven francs. But we were more than half-way there; and we had three hares and eight partridges to the good! As I had foreseen, we paid our way, and generously, with a hare and three partridges. We could have paid our way in larks.
By eleven o'clock, we were off again, and we made straight tracks for Paris, which we reached at half-past ten that night, I on foot and Paillet on horseback, with four hares, a dozen partridges and two quails. We had a marketable value of thirty francs of game with us.
When we reached the Hôtel des Vieux-Augustins, Paillet made himself known and imposed his conditions. He told our host we had made a big bet with some Englishmen. We had wagered that we could go to Paris and back without spending a halfpenny, so we wished to gain the bet by selling our game to him. He engaged to board and put us up, horse and dog included, for two days and two nights, in exchange for our twelve partridges, four hares and two quails. Besides this, when we left he put us up a pasty and bottle of wine. On these conditions, our host declared he would make a good thing out of us, and offered us a certificate to certify that, at least while with him, we had not spent a son. We thanked him and told him our Englishmen would take our word for it.
Paillet and I took our bearings and went to get a bath. With all economy possible, we had had to deduct the sum of three francs fifty from our remaining balance; we were thus left with twenty-three francs fifty. We had spent rather less than a third of our wealth; but we had arrived, and bed and board were assured us for forty-eight hours.
In spite of the fatigue of the journey, I slept but ill: I was in Paris! I envied my dog, who, laid down at the foot of my bed, free from imagination, tired out in body, and indifferent to his resting-place, was taking a nap. Next day I woke up at seven o'clock. In a twinkling I was dressed.
De Leuven lived in the rue Pigale, No. 14. It was nearly a league from the rue des Vieux-Augustins, but, good gracious! what did that matter? I had covered ten or a dozen leagues the day before, without reckoning the ins and outs, and I could surely manage one to-day. I set out. Paillet had business of his own to attend to; I had mine. We should probably meet at dinner-time, or perhaps not until night. I left the rue des' Vieux-Augustins by the rue Croix-des-Petits-Champs and walked straight ahead. I saw a passage where a crowd of people were going in and coming out. I went down seven or eight steps until I thought I was lost. I wanted to ascend again, but I felt ashamed. I continued on my way and alighted on the rue Valois. I had made acquaintance, first go off, with the ugliest passage in Paris, the passage of the rue Neuve-des-Bons-Enfants. I went down another passage which opened out before me, and I found myself in the Palais-Royal. I went all round it: half the shops weren't opened. I stopped in front of the Théâtre-Français and I saw on the poster—
"To-morrow, Monday, Sylla, a Tragedy in verse, in five
acts, by M. de Jouy."
I vowed fervently that somehow or other I would get access to the common purse and I would see Sylla. All the more because I read in large letters on the same poster—
"M. TALMA will take the part of Sylla"