"Yes, a convict escaped from the galleys at Rochefort, Anselm Duresnel by name, sentenced for life. We know now that he disfigured himself on purpose, that he might not be recognised. Have you no trace of him?"
"None," replied Bras-Rouge, boldly, for he had his reasons for the lie, the Schoolmaster being at this very moment shut up in one of the cellars of the cabaret.
"There is every reason to believe that the Schoolmaster is the author of fresh murders. He would be an important capture."
"No one knows what has become of him for the last six weeks."
"And that's the reason you are reproached with having lost all trace of him."
"Always reproaches, M. Narcisse, always!"
"Not for want of ample cause! And how goes on the smuggling?"
"Is it not necessary that I should know something of all kinds of persons—smugglers as well as others—in order to put you on the scent? I disclosed to you that pipe to introduce liquids, established outside the Barrière du Trône, and coming into a house in the street."
"I know that," said Narcisse, interrupting Bras-Rouge; "but for one that you denounce, you allow ten to escape, and continue your traffic with impunity. I am sure you eat at two mangers, as the saying is."
"Oh, M. Narcisse, I am incapable of an appetite so dishonest!"