"But he hasn't any stockings [bas], just now," murmured Bastringuette, after a glance at Laboussole; "that fellow looks to me like an old pickpocket."
"Not at all," said Jean Ficelle; "he's a man who used to have great talent in his line. But, you see, he has had hard luck."
"What was his line?"
"He was an inspector at the Market."
"The devil! that's a good place; why did he lose it?"
"Oh! they put up a dirty game on him—stuffed fish and chickens in his pockets, and then said he stole 'em—a low-down trick, I say! One day, when he had a salmon in one pocket and a turkey in another, they had the cheek to arrest him and dismiss him for it."
"Couldn't the man tell when he had fish about him?" said Bastringuette.
"Apparently not; there's so much of it at the Market that you walk on it."
"All the same, his innocence looks to me almighty muddy! What does he do now?"
"He sells tickets for the Belle-en-Cuisse ball, on Rue des Martyrs, near the barrier. But when there's no ball, he's smoked, and that's the case to-day."