my man, my little fourline" (a pet word for assassin), added the Chouette, laughing loudly. She had not yet recognised in Goualeuse "Pegriotte," her old victim.
"Well, my little white face, dost hear me?" said the monster, advancing. "If thou dost not come, I'll poke your eye out, and make you a match for the Chouette. And thou with the moustache," he said to Rodolph, "if thou dost not stand from between me and the wench, I'll crack thy crown."
"Defend me! oh, defend me!" cried Fleur-de-Marie to Rodolph, clasping her hands. Then, reflecting that she was about to expose him to great danger, she added, in a low voice, "No, no, do not move, Mister Rodolph; if he comes nearer, I will cry out for help, and for fear of the disturbance, which may call in the police, the ogress will take my part."
"Don't be alarmed, my child," said Rodolph, looking calmly at the Schoolmaster; "you are beside me—don't stir; and as this ill-looking scoundrel makes you as well as myself feel uncomfortable, I will kick him out."
"Thou?" said the Schoolmaster.
"I!" said Rodolph. And, in spite of the efforts of the Goualeuse, he rose from the table. Despite his hardihood, the Schoolmaster retreated a step, so threatening were the looks, so commanding the deportment, of Rodolph. There are peculiar glances of the eye which are irresistible, and certain celebrated duellists are said to owe their bloody triumphs to this fascinating glance, which unmans, paralyses, and destroys their adversaries. The Schoolmaster trembled, retreated a step, and, for once, distrustful of his giant strength, felt under his blouse for his long cut-and-thrust knife. A murder would have stained the tapis-franc, no doubt, if the Chouette, taking the Schoolmaster by the arm, had not screamed out:
"A minute, a minute, fourline—let me say a word! You shall walk into these two 'muffs' all the same, presently."
The Schoolmaster looked at her with astonishment. For some minutes she had been looking at Fleur-de-Marie with fixed and increasing attention, as if trying to refresh her memory. At length no doubt remained, and she recognised the Goualeuse.
"Is it possible?" she cried, clasping her hands in astonishment. "It is Pegriotte, who stole my barley-sugar. But where do you come from? Is it the devil who sends you back?" and she shook her clenched hand at the young girl. "You won't come into my clutch again, eh? But be easy; if I do not pull out your teeth, I will have out of your eyes every tear in your body. Come, no airs and graces. You don't know what I mean. Why, I have found out the people who had the care of you before you were handed over to me. The Schoolmaster saw at the Pré (the galleys) the man who brought you to my 'crib' when you were a brat, and he has proofs that the people who had you first were 'gentry coves'" (rich people).
"My parents! Do you know them?" cried Fleur-de-Marie.
"Never mind whether I know them or not, you shall know nothing about it. The secret is mine and my fourline's, and I will tear out his tongue rather than he shall blab it. What! it makes you snivel, does it, Pegriotte?"
"Oh, no," said Goualeuse, with a bitterness of accent; "now I do not care ever to know my parents."
Whilst La Chouette was speaking, the Schoolmaster had resumed his assurance, for, looking at Rodolph, he could not believe that a young man of slight and graceful make could for a moment cope with him, and, confident in his brutal force, he approached the defender of Goualeuse, and said to the Chouette, in an imperious voice:
"Hold your jaw! I'll tackle with this swell, and then the fair lady may think me more to her fancy than he is."
With one bound Rodolph leaped on the table.
"Take care of my plates!" shouted the ogress.
The Schoolmaster stood on his guard, his two hands in front, his chest advanced, firmly planted on his legs, and arched, as it were, on his brawny legs, which were like balusters of stone. At the moment when Rodolph was springing at him, the door of the tapis-franc opened with violence, and the charcoal-man, of whom we have before spoken, and who was upwards of six feet high, dashed into the apartment, pushed the Schoolmaster on one side rudely, and coming up to Rodolph, said, in German, in his ear:
"Monseigneur, the countess and her brother—they are at the end of the street."
At these words Rodolph made an impatient and angry gesture, threw a louis d'or on the bar of the ogress, and made for the door in haste. The Schoolmaster attempted to arrest Rodolph's progress, but he, turning to him, gave him two or three rapid blows with his fists over the nose and eyes, and with such potent effect, that the beast staggered with very giddiness, and fell heavily against a table, which alone prevented his prostration on the floor.
"Vive la Charte! those are my blows—I know them," cried the Chourineur; "two or three more lessons like that, and I shall know all about it."
Restored to himself after a few moments, the Schoolmaster darted off in pursuit of Rodolph, but he had disappeared with the charcoal-man in the dark labyrinth of the streets of the Cité, and the brigand found it useless to follow.
At the moment when the Schoolmaster had returned, foaming with rage, two persons, approaching from the opposite side to that by which Rodolph had disappeared, entered into the tapis-franc, hastily, and out of breath, as if they had been running far and fast. Their first impulse was to look around the room.
"How unfortunate!" said one of them; "he has gone—another opportunity lost."
The two newcomers spoke in English. The Goualeuse, horror-struck at meeting with the Chouette, and dreading the threats of the Schoolmaster, took advantage of the tumult and confusion caused by the arrival of the two fresh guests in the tapis-franc, and, quietly gliding out by the half-opened door, left the cabaret.
CHAPTER VI.
THOMAS SEYTON AND THE COUNTESS SARAH.
The two persons who had just entered the tapis-franc were quite of another class from those who ordinarily frequented it. One, tall and erect, had hair almost white, black eyebrows and whiskers, a long and tanned face, with a stiff, formal air. His long frock coat was buttoned up to the throat, à la militaire. We shall call this individual Thomas Seyton. His companion was young, pale, and handsome, and appeared about thirty-one or two years of age. His hair, eyebrows, and eyes were of a deep black, which showed off the more fully the pure whiteness of his face. By his step, the smallness of his stature, and the delicacy of his features, it was easy to detect a woman in male habiliments. This female was the Countess Sarah Macgregor. We will hereafter inform our readers of the motives and events which had brought the countess and her brother into this cabaret of the Cité.
"Call for something to drink, Thomas, and ask the people here about him; perhaps they may give us some information," said Sarah, still speaking English.
The man with white hair and black eyebrows sat down at a table, whilst Sarah was wiping her forehead, and said to the ogress, in excellent French, "Madame, let us have something to drink, if you please."
The entrance of these two persons into the tapis-franc had excited universal attention. Their dress, their manners, all announced that they never frequented low drinking-shops, whilst, by their restless looks and disturbed countenances, it might be judged that some very powerful motives had led them hither. The Chourineur, the Schoolmaster, and the Chouette viewed them with increasing
