While Ernestine and her friends hastened to his table, the Sapper's companion, a heavily built man, rose carelessly and slouched off to join another group, muttering:
"I'm too near the window here."
"It's Nonet," explained the Sapper to Ernestine. "He's home from New Caledonia, and he doesn't care to show himself much just now."
The girl nodded, and pointing to one of her companions, became confidential. "Look at poor Mimile, here. He's just out of quod and has to start right off to do his service. Pretty tough."
The Sapper became very interested in the conversation. Meanwhile Nonet, as he crossed the tap-room, had stopped a few moments before a pretty girl who was evidently expecting some one.
"Waiting again for the Square, eh, Josephine?" Nonet inquired.
The girl, whose big blue eyes contrasted strikingly with her jet black hair, replied:
"Why not? Loupart doesn't think of quitting me that I know of."
"Well, when he does let me know," Nonet suggested smilingly.
Josephine shrugged her shoulders contemptuously, and, glancing at the clock above the bar, rose suddenly and left the tap-room.
She went rapidly down the Rue Charbonnière and along the boulevard, in the direction of the Barbès Metropolitan Station. On reaching the level of the Boulevard Magenta, she slackened and walked along the right-hand pavement toward the centre of Paris.
"My little Jojo!"
The girl who, after leaving the tavern, had assumed a quiet and modest air, now came face to face with a stout gentleman with a jovial face and one gleaming eye, the other eye being permanently closed. He wore a beard turning grey and his derby hat and light cane placed him as belonging to the middle class.
"How late you are, my adored Jojo," he murmured tenderly. "That accursed workshop been keeping you again after hours?"
The mistress of Loupart checked a smile.
"That's it!" she replied, "the workshop, M. Martialle."
The man addressed made a warning gesture.
"Don't mention my name here; I'm almost home." He pulled out his watch. "Too bad; I'll have to go in or my wife will kick up a row. Let's see, this is Tuesday; well, Saturday I'm off to Burgundy on my usual half-monthly trip. Meet me at the Lyons station, platform No. 2, Marseilles express. We won't be back till Monday. A delightful week-end of love-making with my darling who at last consents.... What's that!"
The stout man broke off his impassioned harangue. A beggar, emerging from the darkness, importuned him:
"Have pity on me, kind sir."
"Give him something," urged Josephine.
The middle-aged lover complied and tenderly drew away the pretty girl, repeating carefully the details of the assignation:
"Lyons Station; a quarter past eight. The train leaves at twenty to nine."
Then suddenly dropping Josephine's arm:
"Now, sweetheart, you'd better hurry home to your good mother, and remember Saturday."
The outline of the portly personage faded into the night. Loupart's mistress shrugged her shoulders, turned, and made her way back to the "Tryst," where her place had been kept for her.
At the back of the tavern, the group which Nonet had joined were discussing strange doings. "The Bear," head of the band of the Cyphers, had just returned from the courthouse. He brought the latest news. Riboneau had been given ten years, but was going to try for a reduced sentence.
The talk suddenly dropped. A hubbub arose outside, a dull roar which waxed louder and louder. The sound of hurrying footsteps mingled with shrill cries and oaths. Doors in the street slammed. A few shots were fired, followed by a pause, and then the stampede began again.
Father Korn, deserting his bar, warily planted himself at the entry to his establishment, his hand on the latch of the door. He stood ready to bar entrance to any who might try to press in.
"The raid," he warned in a low tone.
His customers, glad to feel themselves in safety, followed the vicissitudes of what to them was almost a daily occurrence.
First came the frenzied rush of the "street walkers," deserted by their sinister protectors and fleeing madly in search of shelter in terror of the lock-up. Behind the shrieking herd the constables, in close ranks, swept and cleared the street, leaving no corner, no court, no door that remained ajar unsearched. Then the whirl swept away, the noise died down, and the street resumed its normal aspect: drab, weird and alarming.
Father Korn laughed. "All they've bagged is Bonzville!" he cried, and the customers responded to his merriment. The police had been fooled again. Bonzville was a harmless old tramp, who got himself "jugged" every winter on purpose to lay up for repairs.
The passage of the "driver" had caused enough stir in the tap-room to distract attention from the entry at the back of a stoutly built man with a bestial face, known by the title of "The Cooper."
Swiftly he passed to the Beard's table, and, taking the latter aside, began:
"The big job is fixed for the end of the week. On my way back from the station I saw Josephine palavering with the swell customer...."
Suddenly the Beard stopped him short.
The general attention had become fixed on the street entrance to the tap-room. The door had opened with a bang and Loupart, alias "The Square," the popular lover of the pretty Josephine, came on the scene, his eyes gleaming, his lips smiling under his upturned moustache.
Then there broke out cries of stupefaction. Loupart was between two policemen, who had stopped short in the doorway.
The Square turned to them: "Thank you, gentlemen," he said in his most urbane tone. "I am very grateful to you for having seen me this far. I am quite safe now. Let me offer you a drink to the health of authority!"
However, the two policemen did not dare to enter the tavern, so they briefly declined and made off. Josephine had risen, and Loupart, after pressing a tender kiss upon her lips, turned to the company.
"That feazes you, eh! I was just heading this way when I ran into the drive. As I'm a peaceful citizen, I got hold of two cops and begged them to see me safely home. They thought I was really scared."
There was a burst of general laughter. No one could bluff the police like the Square.
Loupart turned to Josephine: "How are things going, ducky?"
The girl repeated in a low tone to her lover her recent talk with M. Martialle.
Loupart nodded approvingly, but grumbled when he found the meeting was fixed for Saturday.
"Hang the fellow! Must hustle with all the jobs on hand this week. Anyway, we won't let this one slip by. Plenty of shiners, eh, Josephine?"
"You bet. He carries the stuff to his partners every fortnight."
"That's first rate, but in the meantime there's something doing to-night. Here, kiddy, take a pen and scratch off a letter for me."
The Square dictated in a low voice:
"Sir, I am only a poor girl, but I've some feeling and honesty and I hate to see wrong done around me. Believe me, you'd better keep an eye open on some one pretty close to me. Maybe the police have already told you I am the mistress of Loupart, alias the Square. I'm not denying it; in fact, I'm proud of it. Well, I swear to you that this Loupart is going to try a dirty game."
Josephine stopped writing.
"Look here, what are you at?"
"Scribble, and don't bother yourself. This doesn't concern you," replied Loupart drily.
Josephine waited, docile and ready, but the Square's attention was now focussed upon Ernestine,