sure as my name’s Paulet, there goes a wench who is bound to have a bit of money in her bag! ... you go and talk to her, pitch her a tale, tell her you have a sick brat at home, some jeremy diddler or other, eh? and entice her down a dark street—and you and I’ll deal with the baggage.’”
Spitting on the ground to give more weight to his words, the apache Paulet—for Paulet it was—added: “I take my oath I never dreamt she was a night-bird, I took her for a workgirl by her duds.”
Fandor was far from liking the state of affairs, as he realized more and more clearly the nature of the mistake made.
His companion, Paulet, evidently the “bully” of the street-walker Nini who had accosted the young workwoman, took him, Fandor, for the latter’s protector, while the two men, whom he had supposed to be apaches, were just simply guardians of the peace wanting to arrest the two women ...
To tell truth, Jérôme Fandor was half sorry he had rescued the two unfortunates, but, for all his philosophy, he was still more amazed to have involuntarily become the antagonist of the officers of the law and the accomplice of a Belleville “ponce.”
“What’s dead certain,” Paulet summed up the matter, “it’s another evening wasted, old son; our two wenches took their hook during the fight, and I’ll wager they’ll say they’re too much knocked out of time to put in another stroke of business to-night—above all as Nini’s none too fond of work at the best of times. And so, hang it all! we’ll just go drink a glass and have a snack, eh?”
This last proposal was eminently agreeable to Fandor; it was six and thirty hours since he had broken his fast, and a supper, be it in company of an apache or no, was so much to the good.
“The fact is,” he put in, however, for he had no desire for a quarrel with Paulet after their liquor, “the fact is, for the moment I’m stony
-broke, cleaned out, not a brass farthing to my name.”
But Paulet was in a generous mood. “Right O!” he cried, “I’ve got the dibs; it’s my turn this time ... to Korn’s, is it?”