urned out the
pockets, and inspected the flower-pattern of the silk.

Gougeon held the glittering _soleil_ fast in his hands. He could not
keep his scowling eyes off it. Hache took up the bottle from the floor,
and poured some wine into the chalice, whence he drank it off. Madame
lifted the dress-coat, and inspected it with the same feminine closeness
as the vest.

"It is a good package," remarked she.

"You have not seen all," vivaciously replied the Admiral, and diving his
hand into the box he drew forth and opened the black kerchief of the
cave of Fontainebleau. Gougeon's hand snatched the watch of the Prince
de Poix. Hache caught up the chalice, and executed a jig round the room
while drinking it empty; and Madame arranged her neck to great
self-satisfaction with Cyrene's necklace, while the Admiral told with no
small exaggeration the story connected with the plunder.

"This brings us," he continued, "to the object of my coming. Bec, Caron,
and la Tour, the three taken in the cave, are now in Paris imprisoned in
the Little Chatelet. What can be done for them?"

"Nothing," answered Gougeon.

"Be still," enjoined his wife, flashing her eyes at him.

"Were it I, I would go to the galleys and get away just as I did
before," exclaimed Hache.

"Hache, you have no head."

"Not so good as yours, wife Gougeon, I admit; but I escaped from the
galleys."

"To force the guards is impossible," said she speculating. "Who are the
witnesses?"

"I fear they are out of the question."

"Who are they?"

"The Prince de Poix."

"He will not appear in the matter. It is not like your provincial
tribunals."

"Several gendarmes."

"They have their price."

"Granted; but another remains, a bad one."

"Who?"

"The aristocrat who fell into the cave. He is near us."

"His name?"

"Repentigny."

"I will do what I can. We shall see what the Galley is good for in
Paris."

CHAPTER XV

THE BEGGARS' BALL

That evening there was a ball on the flat above. It was refreshingly
democratic. The rag-pickers who lodged with Madame Gougeon and laid the
foundation of her iron business, attended. Thither thronged the beggars,
the knife-grinders, the old-bottle collectors of the neighbouring
rookeries. The crookedest men of Paris, the most hideous women, the
squalidest tatters were on hand. They whirled and jumped furiously in
their unwashed feet; they became almost invisible in the clouds of dust;
the odour sickened,