As I looked at him to see how he took this refusal, he seemed to fall back out of my range, or, to be more exact, the lines of his form and features became confused. It was much as though I had been gazing on a reflection in still water; that something had ruffled the surface, and all was broken up and obliterated. I could see him no more. I was puzzled and a bit startled, and I rapped my coffee-cup with the spoon to call the attention of a waiter. One sprang to me immediately. "See!" said I, "Jean Bouchon has been here again; I told him that I would not pay him one sou, and he has vanished in a most perplexing manner. I do not see him in the room." "No, he is not in the room." "When he comes in again, send him to me. I want to have a word with him." The waiter looked confused, and replied: "I do not think that Jean will return." "How long has he been on your staff?" "Oh! he has not been on our staff for some years." "Then why does he come here and ask for payment for coffee and what else one may order?" "He never takes payment for anything that has been consumed. He takes only the tips." "But why do you permit him to do that?" "We cannot help ourselves." "He should not be allowed to enter the café." "No one can keep him out." "This is surpassing strange. He has no right to the tips. You should communicate with the police." The waiter shook his head. "They can do nothing. Jean Bouchon died in 1869." "Died in 1869!" I repeated. "It is so. But he still comes here. He never pesters the old customers, the inhabitants of the town--only visitors, strangers." "Tell me all about him." "Monsieur must pardon me now. We have many in the place, and I have my duties." "In that case I will drop in here to-morrow morning when you are disengaged, and I will ask you to inform me about him. What is your name?" "At monsieur's pleasure--Alphonse." Next morning, in place of pursuing the traces of the Maid of Orléans, I went to the café to hunt up Jean Bouchon. I found Alphonse with a duster wiping down the tables. I invited him to a table and made him sit down opposite me. I will give his story in substance, only where advisable recording his exact words. Jean Bouchon had been a waiter at this particular café. Now in some of these establishments the attendants are wont to have a box, into which they drop all the tips that are received; and at the end of the week it is opened, and the sum found in it is divided _pro rata_ among the waiters, the head waiter receiving a larger portion than the others. This is not customary in all such places of refreshment, but it is in some, and it was so in this café. The average is pretty constant, except on special occasions, as when a fête occurs; and the waiters know within a few francs what their perquisites will be.