“I never saw him but once,” said I.
“Ha!” cried he, after a long silence. “Then you probably never heard of the Chouan conspiracy to murder the Chief Consul and overthrow the Government, nor of their trial at the Palais de Justice?”
I nodded slightly, and he went on.
“Monsieur Crillac's evidence was of great value in the proceeding: he knew Jules de Polignac and Charles de la Riviere well; and but for him, San Victor would have escaped.”
“And what has become of him since?”
“He is gone back to the South; he has been promoted.”
“Promoted! what do you mean?”
“Parbleu! it is easy enough to understand. He was made chef de bureau in the department of—”
“What! was he not a tailor then?”
“A tailor! No,” said the little man, laughing heartily; “he was a mouchard, a police spy, who knew all the Royalist party well at Bordeaux; and Fouche brought him up here to Paris, and established him in this house. Ah, mon Dieu!” said he, sighing, “he had a better and a pleasanter occupation than cutting out pantaloons.”