"What is his name?" "The landlord of the Bleeding Heart?" "Yes." "What is that to you? He never asks the names of his customers." "But, still--" "Call him what you like,--Peter, Thomas, Christopher, or Barnabas,--he will answer to any and all. But here we are, and it's time we were, for the rain is coming down again in floods; and how the river roars! It has almost become a torrent! Why, look at it! Two more days of such rain, and the water will overflow the arches of the bridge." "You say that we are _there_, but where the devil is the cabaret? I do not see any house here." "Certainly not, if you look round about you." "Where should I look, then?" "At your feet." "At my feet?" "Yes." "And whereabouts?" "Here,--look; do you see the roof? Mind, and don't step upon it." Rodolph had not remarked one of those subterraneans which used to be seen, some years since, in certain spots in the Champs Elysées, and particularly near the Cours la Reine. A flight of steps, cut out of the damp and greasy ground, led to the bottom of this sort of deep ditch, against one end of which, cut perpendicularly, leaned a low, mean, dilapidated hovel; its roof, covered with moss-covered tiles, was scarcely so high as the ground on which Rodolph was standing; two or three out-buildings, constructed of worm-eaten planks, serving as cellar, wood-house, and rabbit-hutches, surrounded this wretched den. A narrow path, which extended along this ditch, led from the stairs to the door of the hut; the rest of the ground was concealed under a mass of trellis-work, which sheltered two rows of clumsy tables, fastened to the ground. A worn-out iron sign swung heavily backwards and forwards on its creaking hinges, and through the rust that covered it might still be seen a red heart pierced with an arrow. The sign was supported by a post erected above this cave,--this real human burrow. A thick and moist fog was added to the rain as night approached. "What think you of this hôtel, young fellow?" inquired the Schoolmaster. "Why, thanks to the torrents that have fallen for the last fortnight, it must be deliciously fresh. But come on." "One moment,--I wish to know if the landlord is in. Hark!" The ruffian then, thrusting his tongue forcibly against his palate, produced a singular noise,--a sort of guttural sound, loud and lengthened, something like P-r-r-r-r-r-r-r!!! A similar note came from the depths of the hovel. "He's there," said the Schoolmaster. "Pardon me, young man,--respect to the ladies,--allow the Chouette to pass first; I follow you. Mind how you come,--it's slippery." CHAPTER XIV. THE BLEEDING HEART. The landlord of the Bleeding Heart, after having responded to the signal of the Schoolmaster, advanced politely to the threshold of his door. This personage, whom Rodolph had been to see in the Cité, and whom he did not yet know under his true name, or, rather, his habitual surname, was Bras Rouge.