Occupied with these thoughts, Lustucru went out one morning at about half-past six, to take a walk on the quay. As he crossed the threshold, he noticed on the other side of the street a large woman, dry and angular, clothed in cheap, flashy colors. This woman had sunken eyes, a copper-colored complexion, the nose of a bird of prey, and a face as wrinkled as an old apple. She was talking with a boy of thirteen or fourteen, covered with rags, but possessing a sharp, intelligent countenance. [Illustration: The old Woman and the Boy.] Father Lustucru thought he recognized the old woman, but without recalling where he had seen her. If he had been less occupied he would have searched longer into his memory; but the idea of making away with the cat absorbed him entirely, and he continued his route with a thoughtful air, his head bent forward, his arms crossed upon his breast, and his eyes fixed upon the ground, as if the accomplice he wanted might possibly spring up out of the earth. Thus he wandered for some time; the breeze of the morning failed to cool his blood, heated with evil passions. Neither the spectacle of the pure skies, nor the songs of the birds, who enjoyed themselves on the border of the river, awoke in him those calm and sweet emotions with which they inspire honest people. [Illustration: Lustucru is absorbed.] At the moment when he returned, the old woman was no longer to be seen; but the boy remained in the same place, seated upon a stone post, with his nose in the air, regarding the mansion of Madame de la Grenouillere very attentively. Lustucru approached him and addressed him in these terms:-- "What are you doing there, youngster?" "I? Nothing. I am looking at that mansion." "I believe that without difficulty; but why do you look at it?" "Because I find it handsome, and would like to live in it; one ought to be happy there." "Yes, indeed," answered the steward, with emphasis; "they pass the days there happily enough. Who is that woman with whom you were speaking a while since?" "It was Madame Bradamor." [Illustration: The Boy on the Stone Post.] "Madame Bradamor, the famous fortune-teller, who lives below, at the other end of the street?" "The same." "You know her?" "A little; I sometimes do errands for her." "Ah, ah!... And what did the old wizard say to you?" "She said that if I could enter that house as a domestic, I should have a very agreeable existence." "Madame de la Grenouillere is absent, my little friend, and, besides, her house is full." "That is a pity," said the boy, drawing a deep sigh. Father Lustucru made several steps as if to re-enter, rested his hand upon the knocker of the door, then turned abruptly and walked up to the boy. "What is your name?" "Nicholas Langlume, the same as my father's; but I am more generally known under the nickname of Faribole." "What do you do?"