This agent, a man about forty years of age, was thickset and powerful, with a high colour, a keen, quick eye, his face entirely shaven, in order that he might better assume the various disguises necessary for his dangerous expeditions; for it was frequently necessary for him to unite the transformations of the actor to the courage and energy of the soldier, in order to seize on certain ruffians with whom he had to contend in cunning and determination. Narcisse Borel was, in a word, one of the most useful and most active instruments of that providence on a small scale which is modestly and commonly termed the police. * * * * * We will return to the conversation between Narcisse Borel and Bras-Rouge, which appeared to be very animated. "Yes," said the agent of safety; "you are accused of profiting by your double-faced position, and of taking with impunity a share in the booty of a band of most dangerous malefactors, and then giving false information respecting them to the protective police. Take care, Bras-Rouge; for if you are detected no mercy will be shown you!" "Alas! I know I am accused of this; and it is very distressing for me, my good M. Narcisse," replied Bras-Rouge, whilst his weasel's face assumed a hypocritical air of vexation. "But I hope that this day will at last do me justice, and my good faith will be recognised." "That remains to be proved." "How can I be distrusted--have I not given proofs? Was it I or was it not who, at the time, enabled you to apprehend Ambroise Martial, one of the most dangerous malefactors in Paris, in the very fact?" "All this is very fine and good; but Ambroise was warned they were going to arrest him, and if I had not been earlier than the hour you told me of, he would have escaped." "Do you think me capable, M. Narcisse, of having secretly told him of your coming?" "I only know that I received from the scoundrel a pistol-shot aimed full at me, but which, fortunately, only grazed my arm." "Why, to be sure, M. Narcisse, in your profession you must be occasionally exposed to such mistakes!" "Ah, you call these mistakes, eh?" "Certainly; for, no doubt, the wicked fellow intended to lodge the ball in your body." "In the arm, body, or head, no matter, I don't complain of that; every profession has its disagreeables." "And its pleasures, too, M. Narcisse, and its pleasures. For instance, when a man as cunning, as skilful, and as courageous as you, has been for a long time on the track of a gang of villains, whom he follows from quarter to quarter, from lurking-place to lurking-place, with a good bloodhound like your poor servant to command, Bras-Rouge, and, finally, marks them down and comes upon them in a trap from which not one of them can escape, why, then, you must say, M. Narcisse, that there is great pleasure in it,--the joy of a sportsman,--not including the service he renders to justice!" added the host of the Bleeding Heart, with a grave air.