"Come into thy shop; I want to speak to thee." When within, he said: "I have been arrested, and let out—praise be to the saints! I have just now seen the old Crab. She owes thee money?"
"Not much."
"No matter. She has asked me to denounce thee, my poor friend. I came to warn thee."
The cobbler gasped. "Dieu! and my little ones! I have done nothing—I assure thee, nothing."
"Nor I, my friend. Now, listen. I am lucky enough to be in a little employment for the Great Committee. I mean to save thee."
"And canst thou do that?"
"Yes, yes. Something will happen to-morrow, about four o'clock; and after that no fear of the hag. I must see it; it is my business. Can I stay a day—I mean until then—in the little room here above thy shop?"
"Why not? The children are with my sister. They shall stay till to-morrow night."
He followed the overjoyed cobbler up to the room above his shop, sent him out to buy food and wine, and sat down to await events. The cobbler came back with a supply of diet and the gazettes. François sat behind the slats of the green window-shades, and laughed, or talked to Toto, or read, while at intervals he watched No. 33 bis. He read of how Charleroi had been taken, and of the recovery of Fleurus. It interested him but little.
"They have cut off the head of the devil, and got a new god, my good poodle. Tenes! Hold! Attention!" He saw Quatre Pattes clatter out. It was about 4 P.M. She had no market-net. She was decisively bent on some errand, and moved with unusual celerity, her back bent, her head strained upward to get a sufficient horizon.