“Curse you, you dog!” he exclaimed, with a vicious kick at the shoemaker; “you hurt me in pulling that off!” “I beg your pardon, monsieur,” le Bossu replied, with white lips, having dexterously dodged the kick. He knew to his cost that there were some perils attendant upon trying on shoes. He had put back one of M. de Baudri’s high-heeled slippers and was taking off the other boot--with some caution--when the door was opened by a servant, who came to announce a visitor. “A miserable old woman, monsieur,” the man said hesitatingly, “but she will not be denied.” “_Dame_, send her to the devil--or to the Intendant!” retorted M. de Baudri, with a grin at his own joke. The servant still stood at the door, with a perplexed face. His master cast a frowning glance in his direction. “What is it, idiot?” he demanded. “She has some information about these heretics, monsieur,” the fellow answered, stammering; “she wants money.” “_Âme de St. Denis!_” exclaimed monsieur, with a sneer, “does she take me for a paymaster?” The servant summoned his courage. “She told me to say to you two words, monsieur,” he said, “and they were ‘St. Cyr.’” “_Diable!_” M. de Baudri cried fiercely. “Show her up here, you blockhead!” The man closed the door hastily, and they heard his hurried steps retreating down the hall. M. de Baudri fell to cursing, and Charlot suddenly found that the buckle was hanging by a thread on the other shoe,--the mate to the one on his patron’s foot. The shoemaker got out his thread and his needle, and began to sew the rosette in place, and it was very slow work indeed. Presently the door opened again, and Charlot looked up quickly and saw Mère Tigrane.--Mère Tigrane, with her blood-red handkerchief about her head, and her blood-red mouth with its yellow fangs. She curtsied low to the officer and grinned as she did when she intended to be most amiable, but all this had no effect upon de Baudri; he cursed her roundly and ordered her to tell her tale and be gone. The old hag took it in good part, leering at him out of her evil eyes. “I have a little news for monsieur,” she said pleasantly, “a little information about his friends, and ’tis worth a little money; monsieur knows that.” “_Diable_, you old witch, out with it!” he said, tossing her some coins. La Louve grovelled on the floor after them as they rolled away, her talon fingers clutching each piece greedily. One fell near the cobbler, and he thrust it toward her with the end of his awl, a look of disgust on his face. M. de Baudri laughed loudly. “_Dame!_” he exclaimed; “there are degrees even among vermin!” Mère Tigrane gave le Bossu an evil, triumphant look, and then began to count her money. “’Tis not enough,” she said bluntly, turning on the officer with a sinister smile; “’tis worth more, my beauty.” Her insolent tone offended him and he stared at her. “_Diantre!_” he said, “I will have you thrown from the roof if you do not tell all you know, you thievish hag!”