reflection. He knew that his friend meant to conduct him to the unknown doctor's, whose potion (not patented) had cured him in a single night, when all the drugs of master Ambroise Paré were killing him slowly. He had divided the money in his purse into two parts, and intended a hundred rose-nobles for the unknown Esculapius, to whom his recovery was due. Coconnas was not afraid of death, but Coconnas was not the less satisfied to be alive and well.

La Mole directed his steps towards the Place des Halles. Near the ancient fountain was an octagon stone building, surmounted by a vast lantern of wood, which was again surmounted by a pointed roof, on the top of which was a weathercock. This wooden lantern had eight openings, traversed, as that heraldic piece which they call the fascis traverses the field of blazonry, by a kind of wheel of wood, which was divided in the middle, in order to admit in the holes cut in it for that purpose the head and hands of the sentenced person or persons who were exposed at one or other of all these eight openings.

This singular construction, which had nothing like it in the surrounding buildings, was called the pillory.

An ill-constructed, irregular, crooked, one-eyed, limping house, the roof covered with moss, like the skin of a leper, had, like a toadstool, sprung up at the foot of this species of tower.

This house was the executioner's.

A man was exposed, and was thrusting out his tongue at the passers-by; he was one of the robbers who had been following his profession beneath the gibbet of Montfaucon, and had by ill-luck been arrested in the exercise of his functions.

Coconnas believed that his friend had brought him to see this singular spectacle, and mingled in the crowd of amateurs who replied to the grimaces of the patient by vociferations and shouts. Coconnas was naturally cruel, and the sight very much amused him; and when the moving lantern was turning on its base, in order to show the exhibited to another portion of the multitude, and the crowd were following, Coconnas would have accompanied them, had not la Mole checked him, saying, in a low tone:

It was not for this that we came here." And he led

Coconnas to a small window in the house which abutted on the tower, and at which a man was leaning.

"Ah-ah! is it you, messeigneurs?" said the man, raising his blood-red cap and showing his black and thick hair, which descended to his eyebrows. "You are welcome." "Who is this man?" inquired Coconnas, endeavouring to recollect, for he believed he had seen his face during one of the crises of his fever.

"Your preserver, my dear friend," replied la Mole; "he who brought you to the Louvre that refreshing drink which did you so much good."

"Oh; oh!" said Coconnas; "in that case, my friendAnd he held out his hand to him.

But the man, instead of returning the gesture, stood up and retreated a pace from the two friends.

"Sir," he said to Coconnas, "thanks for the honour you offer me, but it is most probable that if you knew me, you would not vouchsafe it."

"Ma foi!" said Coconnas-"I declare that, even if you were the devil himself, I am very greatly obliged to you, for I owe you my life."

"I am not exactly the devil," replied the man in the red cap; "but yet there are frequently persons who would rather see the devil than me."

"Then, who are you?" asked Coconnas.

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"Sir," replied the man, I am maître Caboche, the executioner of the provostry of Paris

"Ah

-" said Coconnas, withdrawing his hand.

"You see!" said maître Caboche.

"No, no; I will touch your hand, or may the devil fetch me! Hold it out-"

And Coconnas took from his pocket the handful of gold he had prepared for his anonymous physician, and placed it in the executioner's hand.

"I would rather have had your hand entirely and solely," said maître Caboche, shaking his head; "for I am not in

want of money, but of hands to touch mine. God bless you, gentleman!"

Never mind!

"So, then, my friend," said Coconnas, looking at the executioner with curiosity, "it is you who give men pain, who put them on the wheel, rack them, cut off heads, and break bones. Ah, ah! I am very glad to have formed your acquaintance."

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Sir," said master Caboche, "I do not do all myself: just as you have lackeys, you noble gentlemen, to do what you do not choose to do yourself, so have I my assistants, who do the coarser work and make preparations. Only when, by chance, I have to do with folks of quality, like you and that other gentleman, for instance, ah! it is then a very different thing, and I take a pride in doing everything myself, from first to last that is to say, from the first putting of the question, to the beheading!"

In spite of himself, Coconnas felt a shudder pervade his veins, as if the actual wedge was being driven beside his legs as if the edge of the axe was against his neck.

La Mole, without being able to account for it, felt the same sensation. But Coconnas overcame the emotion, of which he was ashamed, and desirous of taking leave of maître Caboche with a jest on his lips, said to him:

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Well, master, I hold you to your word, and when it is my turn to mount the gallows of Enguerrand de Marigny, or the scaffold of M. de Nemours, you alone shall lay hands on me."

"I promise you."

"Then, this time here is my hand, as a pledge that I accept your promise," said Coconnas.

And he extended to the headsman his hand, which the headsman touched timidly with his own, although it was evident that he had a great desire to grasp it warmly.

At this light touch, Coconnas turned rather pale; but a smile still remained on his lips, whilst la Mole, ill at ease, and seeing the crowd turn with the lantern and come towards them, touched his cloak.

Coconnas, who in reality had as great desire as la Mole to put an end to this scene, nodded to the executioner, and went his way.

"Ma foi!" said la Mole, when he and his companion had

reached the Cross du Trahoir-"we breathe more freely here than in the Place des Halles !"

"Decidedly,” replied Coconnas; "but I am not the less glad at having made maître Caboche's acquaintance. It is well to have friends everywhere."

CHAPTER XIX.

THE ABODE OF MAITRE RENE, PERFUMER TO THE
QUEEN-MOTHER.

AT the period of this history there existed in Paris, for passing from one part of the city to another, but five bridges, some of stone and the others of wood, and they all led to the Cité; amongst these five bridges, each of which has its history, we shall now speak more particularly of the Pont-SaintMichel.

In the midst of the houses which bordered the line of the bridge, facing a small islet, was a house remarkable for its panels of wood, over which a large roof impended, like the lid of an immense eye. At the only window which opened on the first story, over the window and door of the ground-floor, closely shut, was observable a reddish light, which attracted the attention of the passers-by to the low façade, large, and painted blue, with rich gold mouldings. A kind of frieze, which separated the ground-floor from the first-floor, represented groups of devils in the most grotesque postures imaginable; and a large plain strip, painted blue like the façade, ran between the frieze and the window, with this inscription:

René, Florentine, Perfumer to Her Majesty the

Queen-Mother.

The door of this shop was, as we have said, closely bolted; but it was defended from nocturnal attacks better than by bolts, by the reputation of its occupant, so redoubtable that the passengers over the bridge usually kept away from contact with the building, as if they feared the very smell of the perfumes that might exhale from the house.

From similar motives, the neighbours right and left of René had quitted their houses, which were thus entirely deserted; yet, in spite of this solitude, belated passers-by had frequently seen, glittering through the crevices of the shutters of these empty habitations, certain rays of light, and had heard certain noises like groans, which proved that some beings frequented these abodes, although they did not know if they belonged to this world or the other.

It was, doubtless, owing to the privilege which the dread of him, widely circulated, had procured for him, that maître René had dared to keep up a light after the prescribed hour. No round or guard, however, would have dared to molest him, a man doubly dear to her majesty, as her fellow-countryman and perfumer.

The shop of the ground-floor had been dark and deserted since eight o'clock in the evening-the hour at which it closed, not again to open until next morning, and it was there was the daily sale of perfumery, unguents, cosmetics, and all the articles of a skilful chemist. Two apprentices aided him in the retail business, but did not sleep in the house.

In the evening they went out an instant before the shop was closed, and in the morning waited at the door until it was opened.

In the shop, which was large and deep, there were two doors, each leading to a staircase. One of these staircases was in the wall itself, and the other was exterior, and visible from the Quai des Augustins, and from what is now called the Quai des Orfevres.

Both led to a room on the first-floor, of the same size as the ground-floor, except that it was divided into two compartments by tapestry suspended in the centre. At the end of the first compartment opened the door which led to the exterior staircase. On the side face of the second opened the door of the secret staircase. This door was invisible; being concealed by a large carved cupboard fastened to it by iron cramps, and moving with it when pushed open. Catherine alone, besides René, knew the secret of this door, and by it she came and departed; and with eye or ear placed against the cupboard, in which were several small holes, she saw and heard all that passed in the chamber.