the mouth as tender as a woman's.

Crochard glanced at the label on the cobwebbed bottle, and nodded as he
filled his glass.

"You are good to your friends, Samson," he said. "Your health!"

"Yours!" said Samson, and drained his glass. "Everything I have is
yours, my master; you know that!"

"Even your life?"

"You have only to ask it."

Crochard looked at him with smiling eyes.

"I believe you, my friend," he said. "Some day I may have to ask it--but
not yet. Did you see the man who just left me?"

"It was M. Lepine," said Samson, quietly.

"Did he see you?"

"No; but if he had, it would make no difference. He would not know me
now."

"Perhaps not," Crochard agreed, and glanced at the other's wasted face.
"And yet he has sharp eyes and a wonderful memory."

"I will keep out of his way," said Samson.

"At worst, it is only a question of another rescue; but avoid him, if
you can. You have a good station here, the business pays; you can lead
a quiet life--and, from time to time, be of use to me."

"The last is the most important," said Samson, and filled his glass
again.

"Have you learned anything more of the white-haired man?"

"No; but I _will_ know more before evening."

"I wish especially to find his lodging. If he is no longer there, I must
know when he departed and where he went."

"All that you shall know; I will see to it."

"No detail is too unimportant."

"I shall remember."

"And perhaps," added Crochard, "if things go well--for this is an affair
of great importance, where for once I am working on the side of the
law--I shall be able to secure for you that for which you have
longed--pardon from the State, rehabilitation, so that you can resume
your own name and live again openly with your family. That is worth
working for, is it not?"

"Ah!" cried Samson, his voice quivering with emotion. "If you could do
that! But it is impossible!"

"It is _not_ impossible!" said Crochard, and struck the table with his
open hand. "I promise it!"

Samson stared at him, his lips working, and two large tears formed
slowly in the corners of his eyes, brimmed over and ran down his
cheeks. If Crochard said "I promise it!" the thing was as good as done.
Suddenly he sat upright and brushed the tears away.

"What is it I must do?" he asked. "Tell me!"

And Crochard, drawing his chair closer, began his rapid instructions.

CHAPTER VI

THE MYSTERIOUS SIGNALS

M. Delcasse was a busy man,