d towards the sergeant, and quietly submitted to
being taken by the arm, for his hands were fastened. Bouzille winked
knowingly at the gendarme, now his sole remaining confidant, and
remarked with satisfaction:

"Good luck! We are getting on to-day! Not too much 'remanded' about it,"
and as the gendarme, severely keeping his proper distance, made no
reply, the incorrigible chatterbox went on merrily: "As a matter of fact
it suits me just as well to be committed for trial, since the government
give you your board and lodging, and especially since there's a really
beautiful prison at Brives now." He leaned familiarly against the
gendarme's shoulder. "Ah, M'sieu Morand, you didn't know it--you weren't
old enough--why, it was before you joined the force--but the lock-up
used to be in an old building just behind the Law Courts: dirty! I
should think it was dirty! And damp! Why once, when I did three months
there, from January to April, I came out so ill with the rheumatics that
I had to go back into the infirmary for another fortnight! Gad!" he went
on after a moment's pause during which he snuffed the air around him,
"something smells jolly good here!" He unceremoniously addressed the
cook who was busy at her work: "Mightn't there perhaps be a bit of a
blow out for me, Mme. Louise?" and as she turned round with a somewhat
scandalised expression he continued: "you needn't be frightened, lady,
you know me very well. Many a time I've come and asked you for any old
thing, and you've always given me something. M'sieu Dollon, too:
whenever he has an old pair of shoes that are worn out, well, those are
mine; and a crust of bread is what nobody ever refuses."

The cook hesitated, touched by the recollections evoked by the poor
tramp; she looked at the gendarme for a sign of encouragement. Morand
shrugged his shoulders and turned a patronising gaze on Bouzille.

"Give him something, if you like, Mme. Louise. After all, he is well
known. And for my own part I don't believe he could have done it."

The tramp interrupted him.

"Ah, M'sieu Morand, if it's a matter of picking up trifles here and
there, a wandering rabbit, perhaps, or a fowl that's tired of being
lonely, I don't say no; but as for anything else--thank'ee kindly,
lady."

Louise had handed Bouzille a huge chunk of bread which he immediately
interned in the depths of his enormous bag.

"What do you suppose that other chap can have to tell Mr. Paul Pry? He
did not loo