"M. le Commissaire is too late; the malefactor has escaped," said M. Pipelet, in a sorrowful voice; "but I will give you his description,—villainous smile, impudent look, insulting—"
"Of whom do you speak?" inquired the magistrate.
"Of Cabrion, M. le Commissaire; but, perhaps, if you make all haste, it is not yet too late to catch him," added M. Pipelet.
"I know nothing about any Cabrion," said the magistrate, impatiently. "Does one Jérome Morel, a working lapidary, live in this house?"
"Yes, mon commissaire," said Madame Pipelet, putting herself into a military attitude.
"Conduct me to his apartment."
"Morel, the lapidary!" said the porteress, excessively surprised; "why, he is the mildest lambkin in the world. He is incapable of—"
"Does Jérome Morel live here or not?"
"He lives here, sir, with his family, in one of the attics."
"Lead me to his attic."