s leaned from the windows as we passed along,--some
staring in stupid wonderment at our appearance; others saluting us with
mockery and grimace, or even calling out to us in the slang dialect of
the place.

"Yes," said Duchesne, as he saw the expression of horror and disgust
the scene impressed on me, "here are the rotting seeds of revolutions
putrefying, to germinate at some future day. Starvation and vice,
misery, even to despair, inhabit every den around you. The furious
and bloodthirsty wretch of '92, the Chouan, the Jacobite, the escaped
galley-slave, the untaken murderer, are here side by side,--crime their
great bond of union. To this place men come for an assassin or a false
witness, as to a market. Such are the wrecks the retiring waves of a
Revolution have left us. So long as the trade of blood lasted, openly,
like vultures, they fattened on it; but once the reign of order
restored, they were driven to murder and outrage as a livelihood."

While he was speaking, we approached a narrow arched passage, within
which a flight of stone steps arose. "We dismount here," said he.

At the same moment a group of ragged creatures, of every age, surrounded
us to hold our horses, not noticing the orderly who rode at some
distance behind us. I followed Duchesne up the steps, and along a gloomy
corridor, to a little courtyard, where several dismounted gendarmes
were standing in a circle, chatting. Passing through this, we entered a
dirty, mean-looking house, around the door of which several people were
collected, some of whom saluted the chevalier as he came up.

"Who are these fellows?" said I. "They seem to know you."

"Oh! nothing but the common police spies," said he, carelessly; "the
fellows who lounge about the cabarets and the low gambling-houses. But
here comes one of higher mark."

As he spoke, he laid his hand on the arm of a tall, powerful-looking
man, in a blouse; he wore immense whiskers, and a great beard,
descending far below his chin. "Ah! Bocquin, what have we got going
forward to-day? I came to show a young friend here the interior of your
_salle_."

"Monsieur le Capitaine, your most obedient," said the man, in a deep
voice, as he removed his casquette, and bowed ceremoniously to us; "and
yours also, Monsieur," added he, turning to me. "Why, there is nothing
to speak of, save that duel, Capitaine."

"Come, come, Bocquin; no nonsense with me. What was that story got up
for?"

"Ah! you mistake ther