ne? Pardieu, it is not possible!"

"Look for yourself," was La Boulaye's answer as he waved his hand in the
direction of the window. "I don't know what manner of watch your men can
have kept that such a thing should have come about. Probably, knowing
you ill a-bed, they abused the occasion by getting drunk, and probably
they are still sleeping it off. The place is silent enough."

But Tardivet scarcely heard him. From his window he was staring into the
yard below, too thunderstruck by its emptiness to even have recourse
to profanity. Stable door and porte-cochere alike stood open. He turned
suddenly and made for his coat. Seizing it, he thrust his hand in one
pocket after another. At last:

"Treachery!" he cried, and letting the garment fall to the ground, he
turned upon La Boulaye a face so transfigured by anger that it looked
little like the usually good-humoured countenance of Captain Tardivet
"My keys have been stolen. By St. Guillotine, I'll have the thief
hanged."

"Did anybody know that the keys were in your pocket?" asked the
ingenuous Caron.

"I told you last night."

"Yes, yes; I remember that. But did anybody else know?"

"The ostler knew. He saw me lock the doors."

"Why, then, let us find the ostler," urged Caron. "Put on some clothes
and we will go below."

Mechanically Charlot obeyed him, and as he did so he gave his feelings
vent at last. From between set teeth came now a flow of oaths and
imprecations as steady as the flow of water from the gargoyle overhead.

At last they hastened down the stairs together, and in the common-room
they found the sleeping company much as La Boulaye had left it the night
before. In an access of rage at what he saw, and at the ample evidences
of the debauch that had reduced them to this condition, Charlot began by
kicking the chair from under Mother Capoulade. The noise of her fall and
the scream with which she awoke served to arouse one or two others, who
lifted their heads to gaze stupidly about them.

But Charlot was busy stirring the other slumberers. He had found a whip,
and with this he was now laying vigorously about him.

"Up, you swine!" he blazed at them. "Afoot, you drunken scum!"

His whip cracked, and his imprecations rang high and lurid. And La
Boulaye assisted him in his labours with kicks and cuffs and a tongue no
less vituperative.

At last they were on their feet--a pale, bewildered, shamefaced
company--receiving from the infuriated Charlo