Hence he had made up his mind about his situation with that almost bestial indifference which characterizes people who are ready for everything, and prepared for everything.  He had recovered from that stupor which the discovery of his crime had produced in him, and from the rage in which he had been thrown by the loss of his bank-notes.  Now there appeared, under the odious personage of the murderer, the pretentious and ridiculous orator of the streets and prisons, who is accustomed to make himself heard, and displays his eloquence with great pride.

He assumed a studied position; and it was evident that he was preparing himself for his speech, although, afterwards, a good many words escaped him which are found in no dictionary, but belong to the jargon of the lowest classes, and serve to express the vilest sentiments.

“It was,” he began, “a Friday, an unlucky day,—­a week, about, before ‘The Conquest’ sailed.  It might have been two o’clock.  I had eaten nothing; I had not a cent in my pockets and I was walking along the boulevards, loafing, and thinking how I could procure some money.

“I had crossed several streets, when a carriage stopped close to me; and I saw a very fine gentleman step out, a cigar in his mouth, a gold chain across his waistcoat, and a flower in his buttonhole.  He entered a glove-shop.

“At once I said to myself, ‘Curious!  I have seen that head somewhere.’

“Thereupon, I go to work, and remain fixed to the front of the shop, a little at the side, though, you know, at a place where, without being seen myself, I could very well watch my individual, who laughed and talked, showing his white teeth, while a pretty girl was trying on a pair of gloves.  The more I looked at him, the more I thought, ’Positively, Bagnolet, although that sweet soul don’t look as if he were a member of your society, you know him.’

“However, as I could not put a name to that figure, I was going on my way, when suddenly my memory came back to me, and I said, ’Cretonne, it is an old comrade.  I shall get my dinner.’

“After all, I was not positively sure; because why?  Fifteen years make a difference in a man, especially when he does not particularly care to be recognized.  But I had a little way of my own to make the thing sure.

“I waited, therefore, for my man; and, at the moment when he crossed the sidewalk to get into his carriage, I stepped up, and cried out, though not very loud, ‘Eh, Chevassat!’

“The scamp!  They might have fired a cannon at his ear, and he would not have jumped as he did when I spoke to him.  And white he was,—­as white as his collar.  But, nevertheless, he was not without his compass, the screw.  He puts up his eyeglass, and looks at me up and down; and then he says in his finest manner, ’What is it, my good fellow?  Do you want to speak to me?’

“Thereupon, quite sure of my business now, I say, ’Yes, to you, Justin Chevassat.  Don’t you recall me?  Evariste Crochard, surnamed Bagnolet; eh?  Do you recollect now?’ However, the gentleman continued to hold his head high, and to look at me.  At last he says, ’If you do not clear out, I will call a policeman.’  Well, the mustard got into my nose, and I began to cry, to annoy him, so as to collect a crowd,—­