who had poured at his feet the full cornucopia of comfort and luxury.  Not so!  That man, Sir, was a snake in the grass—­a serpent—­a crocodile!  Even now that I have entirely severed my connexion with that ingrate, I seem to feel the wounds, like dagger-thrusts, which he dealt me with so callous a hand.  But I have done with him—­done, I tell you!  How could I do otherwise than to send him back to the gutter from whence I should never have dragged him?  My goodness, he repaid with an ingratitude so black that you, Sir, when you hear the full story of his treachery, will exclaim aghast.

Ah, you shall judge!  His perfidy commenced less than a week after I had given him my third best pantaloons and three sous to get his hair cut, thus making a man of him.  And yet, you would scarcely believe it, in the matter of the secret documents he behaved toward me like a veritable Judas!

Listen, my dear Sir.

I told you, I believe, that I had my office in the Rue Daunou.  You understand that I had to receive my clients—­many of whom were of exalted rank—–­in a fashionable quarter of Paris.  But I actually lodged in Passy—­being fond of country pursuits and addicted to fresh air—­in a humble hostelry under the sign of the “Grey Cat”; and here, too, Theodore had a bed.  He would walk to the office a couple of hours before I myself started on the way, and I was wont to arrive as soon after ten o’clock of a morning as I could do conveniently.

On this memorable occasion of which I am about to tell you—­it was during the autumn of 1815—­I had come to the office unusually early, and had just hung my hat and coat in the outer room, and taken my seat at my desk in the inner office, there to collect my thoughts in preparation for the grave events which the day might bring forth, when, suddenly, an ill-dressed, dour-looking individual entered the room without so much as saying, “By your leave,” and after having pushed Theodore—­who stood by like a lout—­most unceremoniously to one side.  Before I had time to recover from my surprise at this unseemly intrusion, the uncouth individual thrust Theodore roughly out of the room, slammed the door in his face, and having satisfied himself that he was alone with, me and that the door was too solid to allow of successful eavesdropping, he dragged the best chair forward—­the one, sir, which I reserve for lady visitors.

He threw his leg across it, and, sitting astride, he leaned his elbows over the back and glowered at me as if he meant to frighten me.

“My name is Charles Saurez,” he said abruptly, “and I want your assistance in a matter which requires discretion, ingenuity and alertness.  Can I have it?”

I was about to make a dignified reply when he literally threw the next words at me:  “Name your price, and I will pay it!” he said.

What could I do, save to raise my shoulders in token that the matter of money was one of supreme indifference to me, and my eyebrows in a manner of doubt that M. Charles Saurez had the means wherewith to repay my valuable services?  By way of a rejoinder he took out from the inner pocket of his coat a greasy letter-case, and with his exceedingly grimy fingers extracted therefrom some twenty banknotes, which a hasty glance on my part revealed as representing a couple of hundred francs.