The Mysteries of Paris, illustrated with etchings, Vol. 1Sue, Eugène
General
The Mysteries of Paris, illustrated with etchings, Vol. 1
Sue, Eugène
Paris (France) -- Fiction
I listened,--it was the Chouette. 'Tortillard!
Tortillard!' says she, in a low voice. 'It rains, and the little brat is
tired of waiting,' said the Schoolmaster, swearing; 'if I catch him,
I'll skin him alive!' '_Fourline_, take care!' replied the Chouette.
'Perhaps he has gone to warn us of something that has happened,--maybe,
some trap for us. The young fellow would not make the attempt till ten
o'clock.' 'That's the very reason,' replies the Schoolmaster; 'it is now
only seven o'clock. You saw the money,--nothing venture, nothing have.
Give me the ripping chisel and the jemmy--'"
"What instruments are they?" asked Rodolph.
"They came from Bras Rouge's. Oh, he has a well-furnished house! In a
crack the door is opened. 'Stay where you are,' said the Schoolmaster to
the Chouette; 'keep a bright lookout, and give me the signal if you hear
anything.' 'Put your "pinking-iron" in the buttonhole of your waistcoat,
that you may have it handy,' said the old hag. The Schoolmaster entered
the garden, and I instantly, coming down from the tree, fell on the
Chouette. I silenced her with two blows of my fist,--my new style,--and
she fell without a word. I ran into the garden, but, thunder and
lightning, M. Rodolph! it was too late--"
"Poor Murphy!"
"He was struggling on the ground with the Schoolmaster at the entrance,
and, although wounded, he held his voice and made no cry for help.
Excellent man! he is like a good dog, bites, but doesn't bark. Well, I
went bang, heads or tails, at it, hitting the Schoolmaster on the
shoulder, which was the only place I could at the moment touch. 'Vive la
Charte! it's I!' 'The Chourineur!' shouts M. Murphy. 'Ah, villain! where
do you come from?' cries out the Schoolmaster, quite off his guard at
that. 'What's that to you?' says I, fixing one of his legs between my
knees, and grasping his 'fin' with my other hand; it was that in which
he held his dagger. 'And M. Rodolph?' asked M. Murphy of me, whilst
doing all in his power to aid me--"
"Worthy, kind-hearted creature!" murmured Rodolph, in a tone of deep
distress.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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