"That may concern us considerably, my young fellow!" answered the ragpicker, holding firm to his collar. "You stabbed this poor woman after robbing her of her money and a watch in the name of the people. Keep still! This demands an explanation." "Here is the watch, for one thing," said a workingman after searching the thief. "Can you identify it, madam?" "I should think so, monsieur! It is old and heavy." "Correct!" replied the workingman. "Here it is, madam." "And in his vest," said another workingman after searching another of the thief's pockets, "six hundred-sou pieces and one forty-sou piece." "My thirty-two francs!" cried the tradeswoman. "Thank you, my dear men, thank you!" "That part being settled, my young fellow, you must now settle scores with us," proceeded the ragpicker. "You stole and meant to commit murder in the name of the people, did you not? Answer!" "What is all this pother about, my friends, are we engaged in a revolution, or are we not?" answered the thief in a hoarse voice and affecting a cynical laugh. "Well, then, let us break into the money boxes!" "Is that what you understand by a revolution?" asked the ragpicker. "To break into the money boxes?" "Well?" "Accordingly, you believe the people rise in revolt for the purpose of stealing--brigand that you are?" "What other purpose have you, then, in insurrecting, you pack of hypocrites? Is it, perhaps, for honor's sake?" replied the thief brazenly. The group of armed men, the ragpicker excepted, who stood around the thief, consulted for a moment in a low voice. One of them, noticing the door of a grocery store standing ajar went thither; two others went in another direction, saying: "I think we would better tell Monsieur Lebrenn of this affair, and ask his opinion." Still a fourth whispered a few words in the ear of the ragpicker, who answered: "I think so, too. It would be no more than he deserves. It may be a wholesome example. But while we wait, send me Flameche to help me mount guard over this bad Parisian." "Halloa, Flameche!" called a voice. "Come and help father Bribri hold a thief." Flameche ran to the ragpicker. He was a true Parisian gamin. Wan, frail, wasted away by want, the lad, who was gifted with an intelligent and bold face, was sixteen years of age, but looked only twelve. He wore a dilapidated pair of trousers, and old shoes to match, and a blue sack coat that hung in shreds from his shoulders; for weapon he carried a saddle-pistol. Flameche arrived jumping and leaping. "Flameche," said the ragpicker, "is your pistol loaded?" "Yes, father Bribri. It is loaded with two marbles, three nails and a knuckle-bone--I rammed all my toggery into it." "That will do to settle the _gentleman_ if he but budges. Listen, my friend Flameche--finger on trigger, and barrel in vest." "'Tis done, father Bribri."