"The devil! in a faubourg! it would be a nice job to find him! There's some mystery about that fellow; he's a queer fish."
"What difference does it make whether he's at home, or at her room? I don't care a hang! I'm done with Bastringuette."
"Never mind," muttered Jean Ficelle, biting into his bread; "if a mate of mine took my mistress from under my nose, it wouldn't make any difference if I didn't love her—that wouldn't be the end of it."
"And do you suppose that I won't have my revenge?" shouted Sans-Cravate, giving free vent to his anger, and clenching his fists with a threatening air.
"Good!" said Jean Ficelle, patting the other's shoulder hypocritically; "that's more like you. You're still a man. I says to myself: 'It's mighty strange that a brick like Sans-Cravate stands being put upon without doing anything'; but I see that you have a plan; bravo! you're a man!"
At that moment, a short, thin individual, dressed in black, but not well dressed, stopped in front of the two messengers, and said to them:
"You two are the men I want; you're Sans-Cravate, aren't you; and you, Jean Ficelle?"
They assented, and the man in black continued:
"Then you'll be kind enough to come and see monsieur le commissaire."
Jean Ficelle was visibly disturbed by the mention of the magistrate, while Sans-Cravate asked: