"You hope not, you idiot!" said Polycarpe angrily, "why, how can it be otherwise? One can't be always in luck. Don't you know that every one gets to prison at last? Every one that I know has been there, and why should I escape, I should like to know? Of course my time will come, and your time will come, and what we have to do then is to show game. No cry-baby goings on then, if you please, Master Marcel, or you and I'll part company when we come out!"
Marcel did not answer, and they continued silently their way until they had passed the fortifications.
"Now," said Polycarpe at last, "we must try to kill time as pleasantly as possible until the night, and then we'll go straight to the quarries; we can't go there during the day, for there is always danger from spies."
"I'm very hungry," remarked Marcel.
"And so am I," answered his friend, "my inside has let me know for a long time that it didn't get any coffee this morning."
It was not long before the two boys found a kind of nondescript cabaret and restaurant—one of those drinking and eating houses that do most business with Sunday-breakers and holiday-makers, if not with worse gentry. They were soon seated before a smoking omelette, which, with a great loaf of bread and a bottle of sour claret, they pronounced to be a first-rate breakfast. The meal finished and paid for, they bought a couple of bottles of brandy, and then strolled off again to the fortifications, where, choosing a sunny spot on the grassy side of the deep, dry moat that surrounds the massive walls, they snoozed away the rest of the day.
The quarries of Issy had long been the rendezvous of all sorts of young scamps. Idle, vicious boys who had run away from home; unfaithful apprentices who had robbed their master's tills; pickpockets whose successful operations had rendered their absence from the scene of their labors desirable for a period; hardened vagabonds waiting an opportunity to rob or murder, as the case might be—all found there a hiding-place and congenial society. Carefully concealed from any passers-by or workmen, they slept the daylight away, but as soon as darkness had rendered the place secure, the wretched youths commenced their orgies. Gorging on the provisions provided by two or three of their number in turn, and bought or stolen in the neighboring villages of Issy, Clamart, and Meudon; guzzling, singing, and swearing; boasting of their skill in every cunning and thieving art; teaching and learning all manner of vice—thus passed they their turbulent night, while outside the stifling hole that screened their wickedness the starry sky spread cool and calm over the sleeping village and peaceful fields and woods.
How the contrast between the within and the without struck Marcel a few hours after he had entered that ignoble hiding-place! He and Polycarpe had quitted the moat at nightfall and had found themselves about ten o'clock at the rendezvous. The place was well-known to the cobbler's son; many and many a time had he come hither to see some friend in hiding, and he now advanced without hesitation. At a certain distance from the entrance, he put his fingers to his lips and uttered a shrill, peculiar cry, then seizing his companion's arm hurried in. They were met by Guguste, and received an enthusiastic welcome, not only from that young rascal, but also from the rest of the band, which contained a great many at that moment, and consisted almost entirely of old acquaintances. The two bottles of brandy were hailed with acclamations, and the donors invited to take part in the eating and drinking that was about to commence.
Used as our young hero was to all kinds of wickedness, he at first listened with fear to what he heard around him now; but the brandy and the example of his companions soon acted on his impressionable nature, the revolting instincts were stifled as usual, and Marcel quickly became one of the noisiest and most cynical of those wretched children.