ble stones, and
several rings with real stones shone on the red fingers of the _detenu_,
who was called Maitre Boulard, a _huissier_ (a law-officer), and accused
of breach of trust.

The person who had come to see him was, as we have said, Pierre Bourdin,
one of the _gardes de commerce_ (bailiffs) employed to arrest poor
Morel, the lapidary. This bailiff was usually employed by Maitre
Boulard, the _huissier_ of M. Petit-Jean, the man of straw of Jacques
Ferrand.

Bourdin, shorter and quite as stout as the _huissier_, formed himself on
the model of his employer, whose magnificence he greatly admired. Very
fond as he was of jewelry, he wore on this occasion a superb topaz pin,
and a long gilt chain was visible through the buttonholes of his
waistcoat.

"Good day, my faithful friend, Bourdin, I was sure you would not fail
to come at my summons!" said Maitre Boulard, in a joyful tone, and in a
small, shrill voice, which contrasted singularly with his large carcass
and full-moon face.

"Fail at your summons!" replied the bailiff; "I am incapable of such
behaviour, _mon general_."

This was the appellation by which Bourdin, with a joke at once familiar
and respectful, called the _huissier_, under whose orders he acted; this
military appellation being very frequently used amongst certain classes
of clerks and civil practitioners.

"I observe with pleasure that friendship remains faithful to
misfortune!" said Maitre Boulard, with gay cordiality. "However, I was
getting a little uneasy, as three days had elapsed, and no Bourdin."

"Only imagine, _mon general_!--it is really quite a history. You
remember that dashing vicomte in the Rue de Chaillot?"

"Saint-Remy?"

"Yes; you know how he laughed at all our attempts to 'nab' him?"

"Yes; he behaved very ill in that way."

"Well, this vicomte has got another title."

"What, is he a comte?"

"No, but from swindler he has become thief!"

"Ah, bah!"

"They are after him for some diamonds he has stolen; and, by the way,
they belonged to the jeweller who used to employ that vermin of a Morel,
the lapidary we were going to arrest in the Rue du Temple, when a tall,
thin chap, with black moustaches, paid for this half-starved devil, and
very nearly pitched me and Malicorne headlong down-stairs."

"Ah, yes, yes, I remember; you told me all about it, Bourdin,--it was
really very droll! But as to this dashing vicomte?"

"Why, as I tell you, Saint-Remy was charged with ro