"Ah! you are yokels; but comrade Rodolph is an out-and-out pal, he is. Though only a fan-painter, yet he is as 'downy' in 'flash' as I am myself. Well, since you can't speak this very fine language, I tell you, in plain French, that Bras Rouge is a smuggler, and, besides that, has a small tavern in the Champs Elysées. I say, without breaking faith, that he is a smuggler, for he makes no secret of it, but owns it under the very nose of the custom-house officers. Find him out, though, if you can; Bras Rouge is a deep one." "What could Rodolph want at the house of this man?" asked Sarah. "Really, sir, or madam, which you please, I know nothing about anything, as true as I drink this glass of wine. I was chaffing to-night with the Goualeuse, who thought I was going to beat her, and she ran up Bras Rouge's alley, and I after her; it was as dark as the devil. Instead of hitting Goualeuse, however, I stumbled on Master Rodolph, who soon gave me better than I sent. Such thumps! and especially those infernal thwacks with his fist at last. My eyes! how hot and heavy they did fall! But he's promised to teach me, and to--" "And Bras Rouge, what sort of a person is he?" asked Tom. "What goods does he sell?" "Bras Rouge? Oh, by the Holy! he sells everything he is forbidden to sell, and does everything which it is forbidden to do. That's his line, ain't it, Mother Ponisse?" "Oh! he's a boy with more than one string to his bow," answered the ogress. "He is, besides, principal occupier of a certain house in the Rue du Temple,--a rum sort of a house, to be sure; but mum," added she, fearing to have revealed too much. "And what is the address of Bras Rouge in that street?" asked Seyton of the Chourineur. "No. 13, sir." "Perhaps we may learn something there," said Seyton, in a low voice, to his sister. "I will send Karl thither to-morrow." "As you know M. Rodolph," said the Chourineur, "you may boast the acquaintance of a stout friend and a good fellow. If it had not been for the charcoal-man, he would have 'doubled up' the Schoolmaster, who is there in the corner with the Chouette. By the Lord! I can hardly contain myself, when I see that old hag, and know how she behaved to the Goualeuse,--but patience, 'a blow delayed is not a blow lost,' as the saying is." The Hotel de Ville clock struck midnight; the lamp of the tavern only shed a dim and flickering light. Except the Chourineur and his two companions, the Schoolmaster, and the Screech-owl, all the guests of the _tapis-franc_ had retired one after the other. The Schoolmaster said, in an undertone, to the Chouette, "If we go and hide in the alley opposite, we shall see the swells come out, and know which road they take. If they turn to the left, we can double upon them at the turning of the Rue Saint Eloi; if to the right, we will wait for them by the ruins close to the tripe-market. There's a large hole close by, and I have a capital idea."