"The nobility of France," said the chevalier to the philosopher, "may not have known how to live, but it knows how to die." "Except the Marquis de Lacheville," was the reply. "Bah. He was always one of the canaille at heart; he only proves my assertion," and the chevalier took an extra large pinch of snuff and limped off to his mattress of straw. CHAPTER XIX TAPPEUR AND PETITSOU "What are you bringing us now?" growled a voice from a corner of the cell. Gaillard heard the rustling of straw, but his eyes were not enough accustomed to the gloom to enable him to see what sort of being it was who gave utterance to this harsh welcome. "Are not two enough in a trap like this?" the speaker went on, rising and coming forward. "There's hardly enough air for us as it is, without your putting in another one." "So it's you, Tappeur, complaining again," remarked the jailer. "You had better be thankful you're not four in a cell as they are in most of them. The prison is full to overflowing. No matter how many they take out, there's always more to fill their places. You'll have to make the best of it." And he closed the door with an unfeeling slam. Tappeur brushed some of the straw from his hair and beard. "A plague upon these suspects that fill up our prisons!" he exclaimed with an oath; "we honest criminals have to put up with the vilest accommodations because you crowd us to the wall by force of numbers. You _are_ a suspect, aren't you?" he demanded, coming nearer and putting a dirty face close to Gaillard's. The cell which they occupied was below the level of the ground. Overhead at the juncture of the ceiling and wall was a grating through which came all the light and air they received. "You are a suspect, is it not so?" repeated Tappeur as Gaillard made no answer. "I have not the honor of being an 'honest criminal,'" replied the actor, drawing away with a movement of disgust from the seamed and distorted visage thrust close to his. "Bah, I thought not," said Tappeur with another oath. "Well, suspect, come over here under the grating and let me take a good look at your face," and he seized Gaillard roughly by the arm. Tappeur received a violent blow on the chest which sent him reeling into a dark corner of the cell, clutching at the empty air as if to sustain himself by catching hold of the shadows. His fall to the ground was followed by an explosion of oaths in a new voice, in which explosion Tappeur himself joined vigorously. "I've stirred up a nest of them," said Gaillard to himself, and then stood awaiting developments. The torrent of profanity having exhausted itself, Tappeur emerged from the shadowy recess of the wall followed by a smaller man. "How do you like my looks?" inquired Gaillard cheerfully. "I'm satisfied for the present," replied Tappeur. "Your fist is hard enough; what may your trade be?" "I have no regular profession, I'm a little of everything. What's yours?"