On the first evening of the Carnival, which lasts nearly a fortnight in Perpignan, Aristide, in spite of a sweeter "_Oui, Monsieur_" than ever from Mademoiselle Stéphanie, made an excuse to slip away rather earlier than usual, and, front door having closed behind him, crossed the strip of gravel with a quick step and flung out of the iron gates. Now the house had an isolated position in the new quarter of the town. It was perky and modern and defaced by all sorts of oriel windows and tourelles and pinnacles which gave it a top-heavy appearance, and it was surrounded by a low brick wall. Aristide, on emerging through the iron gates, heard the sound of scurrying footsteps on the side of the wall nearest to the town, and reached the corner, just in time to see a masquer, attired in a Pierrot costume and wearing what seemed to be a pig's head, disappear round the further angle. Paying no heed to this phenomenon, Aristide lit a cigarette and walked, in anticipation of enjoyment, to the great Avenue des Plantanes where the revelry of the Carnival was being held. Aristide was young, he loved flirtation, and flirtation flourished in the Avenue des Plantanes. The next morning the Mayor entered his office with a very grave face. "Do you know what has happened? My house was broken into last night. The safe in my study was forced open, and three thousand francs and some valuable jewelry were stolen. _Quel malheur!_" he cried, throwing himself into a chair, and wiping his forehead. "It is not I who can afford to lose three thousand francs at once. If they had robbed _maman_ it would have been a different matter." Aristide expressed his sympathy. "Whom do you suspect?" he asked. "A robber, _parbleu!_" said the Mayor. "The police are even now making their investigations." The door opened and a plain clothes detective entered the office. "Monsieur le Maire," said he, with an air of triumph, "I know a burglar." Both men leapt to their feet. "Ah!" said Aristide. "_A la bonne heure!_" cried the Mayor. "Arrest him at once," said Aristide. "Alas, Monsieur," said the detective, "that I cannot do. I have called on him this morning and his wife tells me that he left for the North yesterday afternoon. But it is José Puégas that did it. I know his ways." "_Tiens!_" said the Mayor, reflectively. "I know him also, an evil fellow." "But why are you not looking for him?" exclaimed Aristide. "Arrangements have been made," replied the detective coldly. Aristide suddenly bethought him of the furtive masquer of the night before. "I can put you on his track," said he, and related what he knew. The Mayor looked dubious. "It wasn't he," he remarked. "José Puégas, Monsieur, would not commit a burglary in a pig's head," said the policeman, with the cutting contempt of the expert. "It was a vow, I suppose," said Aristide, stung to irony. "I've always heard he was a religious man." The detective did not condescend to reply.