Palot made a gesture signifying that henceforth his late antagonist was as something sacred in his eyes.
“You will be his shadow,” pursued Lecoq, “and keep near enough to him to rush to his aid at a moment of danger. That gang, of which Mascarin is the head, want his life. You are my right-hand man, and I trust him to you. I have warned him, but youth is rash; and you will scent danger where he would never dream that it lurked. If there is any peril, dash boldly forward, but endeavor to let no one find out who you are. If you must speak to him—but only do so at the last extremity—whisper my name in his ear, and he will know you have come from me. Remember, you are answerable for him; but change your face. La Candele and the others must not recognize in you the wine-shop bully; that would spoil all. What have you on under that blouse, a commissionaire’s dress?
“That will do; now change the face.”
Palot pulled out a small parcel from his pocket, from which he extracted a red beard and wig, and, going to the mirror, adjusted them with dexterous activity; and, in a few minutes, went up to his master, who was waiting, saying,—
“How will this do?”
“Not bad, not bad,” returned Lecoq; “and now to your work.”
“Where shall I find him?” asked Palot.
“Somewhere near Mascarin’s den, for I advised him not to give up playing the spy too suddenly.”
Palot was off like the wind, and when he reached the Rue Montmartre, he caught sight of the person who had been intrusted to his care.
Andre was walking slowly along, thinking of Lecoq’s cautions, when a young man, with his arm in a sling, overtook him, going in the same direction as he was. Andre was sure that it was Paul, and as he knew that he could not be recognized, he passed him in his turn, and saw that it was indeed the Paul so much regretted by Zora.