"It's him—and her! Yes, there they are together. Look—over there, at the corner of that street!"
Jean Ficelle looked; he recognized Paul talking to Bastringuette, with great earnestness and with an air of mystery.
"Pardi!" he exclaimed; "the turtle-doves have evidently met here by appointment—a long way from our neighborhood, so as not to be seen. How this fits in—when you was just saying that you'd never seen Paul with your fly-away! You see 'em now."
"Yes—and I still doubted! Ah! the villain! but he's got to pay me for his treachery!"
"What are you going to do? Come, Sans-Cravate, no knock-down fight. Just give him a clip—he well deserves it—and then, off we go! for, although there ain't many people passing, we must look out for loafers."
Sans-Cravate paid no heed to what his comrade said, but strode rapidly toward Paul; Bastringuette had left him, and he was walking away by the canal, when Sans-Cravate planted himself in front of him.
"You don't go any farther," he cried.
"Is it you, Sans-Cravate?" said Paul, looking up at him. "Great heaven! what's the matter? You look like a madman!"
"The matter is that you're a coward, a sneak!"
"Sans-Cravate!"