But an unforeseen incident interrupted the scene. Heavy, measured steps were heard in the wine shop below, followed by the sound of muskets striking the floor; at the same instant, the waiter appeared at the top of the stairs, with a terror-stricken air, crying: "The watch! here's the watch! they're coming up here!" "The watch!" muttered several of the bystanders; "what are they doing here?"--"It isn't twelve o'clock."--"We have a right to drink."--"I won't go away, for one." "They've come for something else," said the waiter; "there's two detectives with the soldiers; they've come to arrest someone, I suppose." The workmen and the drunkards seemed but little affected by the news. But Monsieur Laboussole, who was still on all fours, crawled under a table, although there was no brandy there. The soldiers and detectives came upstairs almost at the waiter's heels. They entered the room, leaving two soldiers to watch the stairway. "Why in the devil do you come here and disturb us?" demanded Sans-Cravate. "We've no business with you. I'd like to know if we ain't at liberty to drink and sing, and quarrel a little too, if we want to?" The detectives, who had already scrutinized everybody in the room, did not answer Sans-Cravate; but one of them went to the table under which the ex-inspector of the Market had taken refuge, and dragged him forth from his hiding-place by the legs. "This is the gentleman we're looking for," he said.--"Come, up with you! you must go with us!" "Messieurs," cried Laboussole, trying to bury his nose in his cravat, "this is a mistake, I assure you; I must be the victim of an unfortunate resemblance. I know more than twenty men who look like me." "No, no, you're the man we want; come, off you go--and step lively!" "What are you arresting this man for?" demanded Sans-Cravate; while Jean Ficelle pulled him by the jacket and whispered in his ear: "Defend him! thrash the curs! you're strong enough." "Because he's a thief!" replied the detective, pushing Laboussole toward the stairs. Paul glanced at Sans-Cravate, who turned pale and neither moved nor spoke. The word _thief_ had sobered him in an instant. IX A STUDIO PARTY.--A FETICH.--THE BURGUNDIAN It is very disagreeable to be disappointed in one's expectations; but the disappointment is especially keen after an amorous rendezvous: you have dreamed of happiness in its most seductive form; your imagination has conceived the most touching pictures, the most gratifying situations. All these thoughts have heated your brain and your mind--when you have one--and your passions at least, in default of a mind; and when all your anticipations result in nothing at all, you beat a retreat in dire distress, like the crow in the fable. But if, instead of the kisses that you hoped to steal, you have received a blow, you are quite justified in being vexed and angry, as well as distressed.