u like, Madame," said Aristide.

Two minutes found them on their journey. Madame Coquereau, in spite of
her sixty-five years trudged along with springing step.

"They don't make metal like me, nowadays," she said scornfully.

When they arrived at the gate of the Avenue, the police on guard
saluted. The mother of Monsieur le Maire was a power in Perpignan.

"Monsieur," said Aristide, in lordly fashion, to a policeman, "will you
have the goodness to make a passage through the crowd for Madame
Coquereau, and then help the Brigadier Pesac to arrest the burglar who
broke into the house of Monsieur le Maire?"

The man obeyed, went ahead clearing the path with the unceremoniousness
of the law, and Aristide giving his arm to Madame Coquereau followed
gloriously. As the impressive progress continued the revellers ceased
their revels and followed in the wake of Aristide. At the end of the
Avenue Brigadier Pesac was on guard. He approached.

"They are still there," he said.

"Good," said Aristide.

The two police-officers, Aristide and Madame Coquereau turned the
corner. At the sight of the police the guilty couple started to their
feet. Madame Coquereau pounced like a hawk on the masked lady's hand.

"I identify it," she cried. "Brigadier, give these people in charge for
theft."

The white masked crowd surged around the group, in the midst of which
stood Aristide transfigured. It was his supreme moment. He flourished in
one hand his red mask and in the other a pompon which he had extracted
from his pocket.

"This I found," said he, "beneath the wall of Monsieur le Maire's
garden. Behold the shoe of the accused."

The crowd murmured their applause and admiration. Neither of the
prisoners stirred. The pig's head grinned at the world with its inane,
painted leer. A rumbling voice beneath it said:

"We will go quietly."

"_Attention s'il vous plait_," said the policemen, and each holding a
prisoner by the arm they made a way through the crowd. Madame Coquereau
and Aristide followed close behind.

"What did I tell you?" cried Aristide to the brigadier.

"It's Puegas, all the same," said the brigadier, over his shoulder.

"I bet you it's not," said Aristide, and striding swiftly to the back of
the male prisoner whipped off the pig's head, and revealed to the
petrified throng the familiar features of the Mayor of Perpignan.

Aristide regarded him for two or three seconds open-mouthed, and then
fell back into the ar