"And," added Nicholas, "remember, if you say a word to Martial about the box, or the copper, or the clothes, you shall have a dance, so that you'll take fire; not to say taking away the silks." After the departure of the children, Nicholas and his sister hid the stolen articles in a little cellar under the kitchen. "Mother! some drink, and let it be choice," cried the robber. "I have well earned my day. Serve supper, Calabash; Martial shall gnaw our bones--good enough for him. Now let us talk of the customer, 'Quai de Billy,' for to-morrow or next day that must come off, if I wish to pocket the money he promised. I am going to tell you, mother; but some drink--thunder! let's have some drink. I'll stand some." Nicholas rattled the money which he had in his pocket anew; then, throwing off his goatskin jacket and his black woolen cap, he seated himself at table before a ragout of mutton, a piece of cold veal, and salad. When Calabash had brought some wine and brandy, the widow seated herself at the table, having Nicholas on her right and Calabash on her left; opposite were the unoccupied places of Martial and the two children. The thief drew from his pocket a long, broad knife, with a horn handle and sharp blade. Looking at this murderous weapon with a kind of ferocious satisfaction, he said to the widow, "My rib-tickler still cuts well! Pass me the bread, mother!" "Speaking of knives," said Calabash, "Francois saw something in the woodhouse." "What?" said Nicholas, not understanding her. "He saw one of the trotters--" "Of the man?" cried Nicholas. "Yes," said the widow, putting a slice of meat on the plate of her son. "That's queer, for the hole was very deep," said the brigand, "but since that time should have been heaped up." "We must throw the lot into the river to-night," said the widow." "It is more sure," answered Nicholas. "We can tie a stone to it with a piece of old chain," added Calabash. "Not so foolish!" said Nicholas, pouring out drink; "come, drink with us, mother; it will make you more lively." The widow shook her head, drew back her glass, and said to her son, "And the man at the Quai de Billy?" "Well," said Nicholas, continuing to eat and drink. "On arriving at the wharf, I tied up my boat, and mounted on the wharf; seven o'clock struck at the military bakehouse of Chaillot; I could hardly see my hand before my face. I walked up and down for about fifteen minutes, when I heard some one walk softly behind me. I stopped; a man wrapped in a cloak approached, coughing; he halted. All that I know of his face is, that his cloak hid his nose, and his hat covered his eyes." (This mysterious personage was Jacques Ferrand, who, wishing to make away with Fleur-de-Marie, had that morning dispatched Mrs. Seraphin to the Martials, whom he hoped to make his instruments in this new crime.)