“What’s dead certain,” Paulet summed up the matter, “it’s another evening wasted, old son; our two wenches took their hook during the fight, and I’ll wager they’ll say they’re too much knocked out of time to put in another stroke of business to-night—above all as Nini’s none too fond of work at the best of times. And so, hang it all! we’ll just go drink a glass and have a snack, eh?” This last proposal was eminently agreeable to Fandor; it was six and thirty hours since he had broken his fast, and a supper, be it in company of an apache or no, was so much to the good. “The fact is,” he put in, however, for he had no desire for a quarrel with Paulet after their liquor, “the fact is, for the moment I’m stony-broke, cleaned out, not a brass farthing to my name.” But Paulet was in a generous mood. “Right O!” he cried, “I’ve got the dibs; it’s my turn this time ... to Korn’s, is it?” For a bite of bread the unhappy young man would have gone anywhere whatsoever. “That’s the ticket,” he agreed, at once, adding by way of acting up to his rôle: “Maybe, we shall meet some of the boys there?” * * * * * At the _Rendez-vous des Aminches_, the famous tavern kept by old man Korn, the two portals of which opened respectively on the Boulevard de la Chapelle and the Rue de la Charbonnière, Fandor did not at first notice any of the “boys”—or rather he made a pretence of knowing nobody. In the low-ceiled, smoky room, where seated in state, old Korn, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows, his bald head shining in the gaslight, was rinsing out glasses stained with the lees of red wine in a basinful of greasy water, Fandor had recognized, with a surprise that bordered on stupefaction, a whole gang of people whom he knew very well. While Paulet was pushing him along towards a little table, where sat an extraordinary-looking individual, head like a broken-down tipstaff surmounted by a well-worn wig, nose decorated with an enormous pair of spectacles, frowsy mutton-chop whiskers framing the face, whom the apache greeted with a “Good-day, Moche, old cock!” Fandor had been taking stock of the other customers. Later on, when Paulet, after ordering a litre of “Red Seal,” bread and cheese and Bologna sausage, was describing the late encounter to old Moche and his meeting with the “new chum,” Fandor seized the opportunity to scrutinize the group of persons gathered at the further end of the boozing-ken. So, the old gang was come together again? again the same lot haunted Père Korn’s tavern? Fandor was dumbfounded to meet once more at the _Rendez-vous des Aminches_ the very same ill-omened crowd of apaches that had over and over again been mixed up in the crimes and wild adventures of Fantômas; he could only just contrive to play up to his assumed character and pay decent attention to what Paulet was saying, who meantime was praising him up to the skies to M. Moche.