se him" (the
Schoolmaster).

"What has he done to himself?"

"He began by destroying his nose, which was an ell long; he ate it off
with vitriol."

"You jest."

"If he comes in this evening, you'll see. He had a nose like a parrot,
and now it is as flat as in a death's head; to say nothing of his lips,
which are as thick as your fist, and his face, which is as wrinkled as
the waistcoat of a rag-picker."

"And so he is not recognised?"

"It is six months since he escaped from Rochefort, and the 'traps' have
met him a hundred times without knowing him."

"Why was he at the Bagne?"

"For having been a forger, thief, and assassin. He is called the
Schoolmaster because he wrote a splendid hand, and has had a good
education."

"And is he much feared?"

"He will not be any longer, when you have given him such a licking as
you gave me. Oh, by Jove, I am anxious to see it!"

"What does he do for a living?"

"He is associated with an old woman as bad as himself, and as deep as
the 'old one;' but she is never seen, though he has told the ogress that
some day or other he would bring his 'mot' (woman) with him."

"And this women helps him in his robberies?"

"Yes, and in his murders too. They say he brags of having already, with
her assistance, 'done for' two or three persons; and, amongst others,
three weeks ago, a cattle-dealer on the road to Poissy, whom they also
robbed."

"He will be taken sooner or later."

"They must be very cunning, as well as powerful, to do that, for he
always has under his blouse a brace of loaded pistols and a dagger. He
says that Charlot (the executioner) waits for him, and he can only lose
his head once, and so he will kill all he can kill to try and escape.
Oh! he makes no mystery of it; and as he is twice as strong as you and
I, they will have a tough job who take him."

"What did you do, Chourineur, when you left the Bagne?"

"I offered myself to the master-lighterman of the Quai St. Paul, and I
get my livelihood there."

"But as you have never been a 'prig,' why do you live in the Cite?"

"Why, where else can I live? Who likes to be seen with a discharged
criminal? I should be tired of always being alone, for I like company,
and here I am with my equals. I have a bit of a row sometimes, and they
fear me like fire in the Cite; but the police have nothing to say to
me, except now and then for a 'shindy,' for which they give me, perhaps,
twenty-four hours at the watch-house