Lank, mean-looking, and feeble, this man might be fifty years of age. His countenance resembled both the weasel and the rat; his peaked nose, his receding chin, his high cheek-bones, his small eyes, black, restless, and keen, gave his features an indescribable expression of malice, cunning, and sagacity. An old brown wig, or, rather, as yellow as his bilious complexion, perched on the top of his head, showed the nape of the old fellow's withered neck. He had on a round jacket, and one of those long black aprons worn by the waiters at the wine shops. Our three acquaintances had hardly descended the last step of the staircase when a child of about ten years of age, rickety, lame, and somewhat misshapen, came to rejoin Bras Rouge, whom he resembled in so striking a manner that there was no mistaking them for father and son. There was the same quick and cunning look, joined to that impudent, hardened, and knavish air, which is peculiar to the scamp (_voyou_) of Paris,--that fearful type of precocious depravity, that real 'hemp-seed' (_graine de bagne_), as they style it, in the horrible slang of the gaol. The forehead of the brat was half lost beneath a thatch of yellowish locks, as harsh and stiff as horse-hair. Reddish-coloured trousers and a gray blouse, confined by a leather girdle, completed Tortillard's costume, whose nickname was derived from his infirmity. He stood close to his father, standing on his sound leg like a heron by the side of a marsh. "Ah, here is the darling one (_môme_)!" said the Schoolmaster. "Finette, night is coming on, and time is pressing; we must profit by the daylight which is left to us." "You are right, my man; I will ask the father to spare his darling." "Good day, old friend," said Bras Rouge, addressing the Schoolmaster, in a voice which was cracked, sharp, and shrill. "What can I do for you?" "Why, if you could spare your 'small boy' to my mistress for a quarter of an hour, she has lost something which he could help her to look for." Bras Rouge winked his eye and made a sign to the Schoolmaster, and then said to the child: "Tortillard, go with madame." The hideous brat hopped forward and took hold of the "one-eyed's" hand. "Love of a bright boy, come along! There is a child!" said Finette. "And how like his father! He is not like Pegriotte, who always pretended to have a pain in her side when she came near me,--a little baggage!" "Come, come away!--be off, Finette! Keep your weather-eye open, and bright lookout. I await you here." "I won't be long. Go first, Tortillard." The one-eyed hag and the little cripple went up the slippery steps. "Finette, take the umbrella," the brigand called out. [Illustration: "'_Ah, Here is the 'Darling One'!_'" Original Etching by Adrian Marcel]