At the outset of my career in Paris I had been confronted by a problem which demanded immediate solution. I might lodge well and dress poorly, or I might dress well and lodge poorly, but I had not money enough to do both well. After mature deliberation, I had chosen the latter course and expended my money upon my wardrobe, reasoning that all the world would notice my attire, while no one would penetrate to my lodging. My neighbors in the Rue Bailleul had not yet recovered from the astonishment with which my advent had filled them, and still gazed wonderingly and suspiciously after me whenever I chanced to pass.
So I strode through the night away from that shabby garret, and as I went I thought somewhat bitterly of the high hopes I had brought with me to the city a week before,—hopes of adventure and glory, after the fashion, doubtless, of every youth who came to Paris from the provinces. But a week had passed without adventure, and as for glory, it seemed farther away than ever. In faith, those same hopes were about my only possession, a fact brought painfully to my attention when I had opened my purse ten minutes since to pay my score, and something must needs happen soon or—well, I had seen a man taken from the Seine the day before and his face seemed peaceful. At least, I would never go back to the narrow life which I had always hated.
A splash into a pool of mud brought me out of my thoughts. I stopped and looked about me, but did not recognize the street, which seemed a very squalid one. The dilapidated wooden buildings with their plastered fronts tottered together over my head. A putrid stream filled the central gutter, giving forth an odor which reminded me forcibly of the court below my window. I started to retrace my steps and return to a more inviting quarter of the city, when a hand was laid suddenly upon my shoulder.
“Ah, monsieur,” said a pleasant voice, “you seem to have lost your way.”
“’Tis not a difficult task in Paris,” I replied, and as I did so, threw off the man’s hand and stepped quickly back to have my sword arm free in case of need.
“I should be pleased to conduct monsieur wherever he might wish to go,” continued the voice, the face of whose owner I tried in vain to distinguish.
“A thousand thanks,” I answered. “If monsieur will tell me the shortest way of reaching the Rue St. Denis I need trouble him no further.”
“With pleasure. Take the first street to the right, then onward three blocks, and monsieur is there,” said my strange companion; and then as I turned away, “There is one formality which monsieur has overlooked.”
“And what is that?” I questioned, sharply.
“Monsieur’s purse. No gentleman ever leaves the presence of Cartouche with his purse in his possession.”