"How can I be suspected? Have I not given proofs? Was it not I—yes or no—who, in time past secured you Ambrose Martial, one of the most dangerous malefactors in Paris? For, as it is said, that runs in his race, and the Martials come from below, where they will soon return."
"All this is very fine; but Ambrose was informed that he was about to be arrested; if I had not advanced the hour indicated by you, he would have escaped."
"Do you believe me capable, M. Narcisse, of having secretly given him information of your intentions?"
"All I know is, that I received a pistol shot from the rascal, which, very fortunately, only went through my arm."
"Marry! M. Narcisse, it is very certain that in your calling one is exposed to such mistakes."
"Oh! you call that a mistake?"
"Certainly; for doubtless the scoundrel wanted to plant the ball in your body."
"In the arms, body, or head, no matter; it is not of that I complain; every trade has its offsets."
"And its pleasures also, M. Narcisse; and its pleasures! For instance, when a man as cunning, as adroit, as courageous as you are, is for a long time on the tracks of a nest of robbers; follows them from place to place—from house to house, with a good bloodhound like your servant Bras-Rouge, and he succeeds in getting them into a trap from which not one can escape, acknowledge, M. Narcisse, that there is great pleasure in it—a huntsman's joy—without counting the service rendered to justice," added the landlord of the "Bleeding Heart."
"I should be of your opinion, if the bloodhound was faithful, but I am afraid he is not."