which constantly resided the principal tenant of this _garni_.

Father Micou was ostensibly a dealer in old metal ("marine stores"), but
secretly purchased and received stolen metal, iron, lead, brass, and
tin. When we mention that Father Micou was connected in business and
friendship with the Martial family, we give a tolerable idea of his
morality. The tie that binds--the sort of affiliation, the mysterious
communion, which connects--the malefactors of Paris, is at once curious
and fearful. The common prisons are the great centres whence flow, and
to which reflow, incessantly those waves of corruption which gradually
gain on the capital, and leave there such pernicious waifs and strays.

Father Micou was a stout man, about fifty years of age, with a mean and
cunning countenance, a mulberry nose, and wine-flushed cheeks. He wore
a fur cap and an old green long-skirted coat. Over his small stove, near
which he was standing, there was a board fastened to the wall, and
bearing a row of figures, to which were affixed the keys of the chambers
of the absent lodgers. The panes of glass in the door which opened on to
the street were so painted that from the outside no one could see what
was going on within.

The whole of this extensive store was very dark. From the damp walls
there hung rusty chains of all sizes; and the floor was strewed with
iron and other metals. Three blows struck at the door in a particular
way attracted the attention of the landlord, huckster, receiver.

"Come in!" he cried.

It was Nicholas, the son of the felon's widow. He was very pale, his
features looked even more evil than they did on the previous evening,
and yet he feigned a kind of overgaiety during the following
conversation. (This scene takes place on the day after his quarrel with.
Martial.)

"Ah, is it you, my fine fellow?" said Micou, cordially.

"Yes, Father Micou, I have come to see you on a trifle of business."

"Then shut the door,--shut the door."

"My dog and cart are there outside with the stuff."

"What do you bring me, double tripe (sheet lead)?"

"No, Father Micou."

"What is it, scrapings? but no, you're too downy now, you've left off
work. Perhaps it is a bit of hard (iron)?"

"No, Daddy Micou, it's some flap (sheet copper). There must be, at
least, a hundred and fifty pounds weight, as much as my dog could
stagger along with."

"Go and fetch the flap, and let's weigh it."

"You must lend a hand, daddy, for I'v