"Parbleu!" cried Polycarpe, who was the first to break silence, "at any rate our pockets are not empty! Liberty for ever! Hurrah for pleasure and potatoes! Never say die, old fellow!" And he clapped his friend on the back and laughed as if it were the pleasantest thing in life to be running away from the police.
Marcel was not so gay: the boy's instincts, perverted as they were by the depraved influences that surrounded him, became restive at times; mysterious aspirations, and disgust of he knew not what, agitated strangely the poor child's aching heart, and gave him sometimes an appearance of timidity that had acquired for him among his profligate companions the sobriquet of "la demoiselle" the young lady. He was now more moved than usual, his cheek was very pale, and his large blue eyes wore a more thoughtful expression than ever before.
Making a violent effort over himself, he at length replied to his companion's vivacity by asking what would become of Loulou.
"Loulou!" cried Polycarpe, "why, she's safe enough; she'll get out of the scrape, and there's nothing against her and mother. You needn't think of her, but of us, I can tell you. Now, what do you think I'm thinking of, eh?"
"I suppose of where we must go to-night."
"Exactly so, mademoiselle, and can you guess? No, that you can't, so you needn't try. Well, we must go hide in the quarries at Issy; we shall be safe there, and we won't come back to Paris before two months."
"The quarries!" cried Marcel, "How dreadful!"
"Not so dreadful as Mazas," replied Polycarpe, "as you'll know one of these days."
"I hope not," ejaculated Marcel, shuddering.