"I am not such a flat as that, young fellow; but why have I a wife whose name is Finette?"
The Chouette drew up her head.
"Do you see her, young man? Why, she looks like a war-horse when he hears the blast of the trumpet!"
"You mean to send her as a lookout?"
"Precisely so."
"No. 17, Allée des Veuves, isn't it, my man?" cried the Chouette, impatiently. "Make yourself easy: I have but one eye, but that is a good one."
"Do you see, young man,—do you see she is all impatience to be at work?"
"If she manages cleverly to get into the house, I do not think your idea a bad one."
"Take the umbrella, fourline; in half an hour I will be here again, and you shall see what I will do," said the Chouette.
"One moment, Finette; we are going down to the Bleeding Heart,—only two steps from here. If the little Tortillard (cripple) is there, you had better take him with you; he will remain outside on the watch whilst you go inside the house."