With these words the ouvrier dived into a dark lane, and we lost no time in following his example. I had no idea whatever of our locality, but it seemed evident that we were in one of the worst quarters of Paris. Every lamp in the lane had been broken, so that we could form no opinion of its character from vision. It was, however, ankle-deep of mud—a circumstance by no means likely to prolong the existence of my glazed boots. Altogether, I did not like the situation; and, had it not been for the guarantee as to M. Albert’s respectability, implied from his acquaintance with Monte-Christo, I think I should have preferred trusting myself to the tender mercies of the Municipal Guard. As for poor Bagsby, his teeth were going like castanets. “You seem cold, sir,” said Albert, in a deep and husky voice, as we reached a part of the lane apparently fenced in by dead walls. “This is a wild night for a Manchester weaver to be wandering in the streets of Paris!” “O Lord! you know me, then?” groaned Bagsby, with a piteous accent. “Know you? ha, ha!” replied the other, with the laugh of the third ruffian in a melodrama; “who does not know citizen Bagsby, the delegate—Bagsby, the great champion of the League—Bagsby, the millionnaire!” “It’s not true, upon my soul!” cried Bagsby; “I am nothing of the kind. I haven’t a hundred pounds in the world that I can properly call my own.” “The world wrongs you, then,” said Albert; “and, to say the truth, you keep up the delusion by carrying so much bullion about you. I should say, now, that the chain round your neck must be worth some fifty louis.” Bagsby made no reply, but clutched my arm with the grasp of a cockatoo. “This is a very dreary place,” continued Albert, in a tone that might have emanated from a sepulchre. “Last winter, three men were robbed and murdered in this very passage. There is a conduit to the Seine below, and I saw the bodies next morning in the Morgue, with their throats cut from ear to ear!” From a slight interjectional sound, I concluded that Bagsby was praying. “These,” said the ouvrier, “are the walls of a slaughter-house: on the other side is the shed where they ordinarily keep the guillotine. Have you seen that implement yet, Mr Bagsby?” “Mercy on us, no!” groaned the delegate. “Oh, Mr Albert, whoever you are, do take us out of this place, or I am sure I shall lose my reason! If you want my watch, say so at once, and, upon my word, you are heartily welcome.” “Harkye, sirrah,” said Monsieur Albert: “I have more than half a mind to leave you here all night for your consummate impertinence. I knew you from the very first to be a thorough poltroon; but I shall find a proper means of chastising you. Come along, sir; we are past the lane now, and at a place where your hands may be better employed for the liberties of the people than your head ever was in inventing task-work at home.”