cted of
worm-eaten planks, serving as cellar, wood-house, and rabbit-hutches,
surrounded this wretched den.

A narrow path, which extended along this ditch, led from the stairs to
the door of the hut; the rest of the ground was concealed under a mass
of trellis-work, which sheltered two rows of clumsy tables, fastened to
the ground. A worn-out iron sign swung heavily backwards and forwards on
its creaking hinges, and through the rust that covered it might still be
seen a red heart pierced with an arrow. The sign was supported by a post
erected above this cave,--this real human burrow.

A thick and moist fog was added to the rain as night approached.

"What think you of this hotel, young fellow?" inquired the Schoolmaster.

"Why, thanks to the torrents that have fallen for the last fortnight, it
must be deliciously fresh. But come on."

"One moment,--I wish to know if the landlord is in. Hark!"

The ruffian then, thrusting his tongue forcibly against his palate,
produced a singular noise,--a sort of guttural sound, loud and
lengthened, something like P-r-r-r-r-r-r-r!!! A similar note came from
the depths of the hovel.

"He's there," said the Schoolmaster. "Pardon me, young man,--respect to
the ladies,--allow the Chouette to pass first; I follow you. Mind how
you come,--it's slippery."

CHAPTER XIV.

THE BLEEDING HEART.

The landlord of the Bleeding Heart, after having responded to the signal
of the Schoolmaster, advanced politely to the threshold of his door.

This personage, whom Rodolph had been to see in the Cite, and whom he
did not yet know under his true name, or, rather, his habitual surname,
was Bras Rouge.

Lank, mean-looking, and feeble, this man might be fifty years of age.
His countenance resembled both the weasel and the rat; his peaked nose,
his receding chin, his high cheek-bones, his small eyes, black,
restless, and keen, gave his features an indescribable expression of
malice, cunning, and sagacity. An old brown wig, or, rather, as yellow
as his bilious complexion, perched on the top of his head, showed the
nape of the old fellow's withered neck. He had on a round jacket, and
one of those long black aprons worn by the waiters at the wine shops.

Our three acquaintances had hardly descended the last step of the
staircase when a child of about ten years of age, rickety, lame, and
somewhat misshapen, came to rejoin Bras Rouge, whom he resembled in so
striking a manner that there was