Rue Clarisse, I will look about and get you an apartment near by, and I will let you have Pierre——”

“Oh, no, no!” cried Monsieur Bouchard, hastily. He had no mind to have a domestic Vidocq in his new quarters. “I couldn’t think of robbing you of Pierre. Thirty years you[16] have had him. You could not get on without him.”

[16]

“Yes, I could.”

“I can’t accept the sacrifice.”

“I make it cheerfully for your sake.”

“It would be cruel to Pierre.”

“He will make the sacrifice.”

“That he will,” interrupted Élise, with the freedom of an old servant. “He will caper at the notion of leaving the Rue Clarisse for some wild, dissipated place such as Monsieur Paul has selected.”

“Monsieur Paul has not selected a place, Élise,” replied Mademoiselle, with severity.

“But—but I have, my dear Céleste. It is No. 25 Rue Bassano. I have taken it for a year. In fact, the van is coming to-day for my personal belongings. Pierre will see to them. And, my dear, I have a busy day before me. I am due at the meeting of the Society of French Antiquarians at St. Germains at one o’clock, and I can[17] barely make the train. Afterward I shall spend some instructive hours in the museum—I shall see you to-morrow—” and Monsieur Bouchard literally ran out of the room.

[17]

“There he goes!” apostrophized Élise to Mademoiselle Céleste, who was almost in tears. “That’s the way Pierrot scampered off, and Pierre wants only half a wink to run off, too, to the Rue Bassano.”

“Élise,” cried Mademoiselle, “you are most unjust, and your suspicions of Pierre will be disproved. Ring the bell.”

Pierre appeared.

He was about Monsieur Bouchard’s age, height and size—medium in all respects—clean shaven, like his master, and wore a cast-off suit of Monsieur Bouchard’s, as it was the morning and his livery was religiously saved for the afternoon. He was, in short, a very good replica of Monsieur Bouchard.

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