Lecoq remained standing in front of him.  “To begin with,” he remarked, “whom do you suppose the person we have just arrested to be?”

“A porter, probably, or a vagabond.”

“That is to say, a man belonging to the lowest class of society:  consequently, a fellow without education.”

“Certainly.”

Lecoq spoke with his eyes fixed upon those of his companion.  He distrusted his own powers, as is usual with persons of real merit, but he felt that if he could succeed in making his convictions penetrate his comrade’s obtuse mind, their exactitude would be virtually proved.

“And now,” he continued, “what would you say if I showed you that this young man had received an excellent, even refined, education?”

“I should reply that it was very extraordinary.  I should reply that—­but what a fool I am!  You have not proved it to me yet.”

“But I can do so very easily.  Do you remember the words that he uttered as he fell?”

“Yes, I remember them perfectly.  He said:  ’It is the Prussians who are coming.’”

“What do you suppose he meant by that?”

“What a question!  I should suppose that he did not like the Prussians, and that he supposed he was offering us a terrible insult.”

Lecoq was waiting anxiously for this response.  “Ah, well; Father Absinthe,” he said gravely, “you are wrong, quite wrong.  And that this man has an education superior to his apparent position is proved by the fact that you did not understand his meaning, nor his intention.  It was this single phrase that enlightened me.”

Father Absinthe’s physiognomy expressed the strange and comical perplexity of a man who is so thoroughly mystified that he knows not whether to laugh, or to be angry.  After reflecting a little, he decided to adopt the latter course.  “You are rather too young to impose upon an old fellow like me,” he remarked.  “I don’t like boasters—­”

“One moment!” interrupted Lecoq; “allow me to explain.  You have certainly heard of a terrible battle which resulted in one of the greatest defeats that ever happened to France—­the battle of Waterloo?”

“I don’t see the connection—­”

“Answer, if you please.”

“Yes—­then!  I have heard of it!”

“Very well; you must know then that for some time victory seemed likely to rest with the banners of France.  The English began to fall back, and the emperor had already exclaimed:  ‘We have them!’ when suddenly on the right, a little in the rear, a large body of troops was seen advancing.  It was the Prussian army.  The battle of Waterloo was lost.”

In all his life, worthy Father Absinthe had never made such a strenuous effort to understand anything.  In this case his perseverance was not wholly useless, for, springing from his stool, and probably in much the same tone that Archimedes cried “Eureka!” he exclaimed, “I understand.  The man’s words were only an allusion.”