Mother Toulouche’s quarters comprised not only the two stores, but a cellar both large and deep, to which one obtained access by a staircase that was pitch dark, crooked, and constantly covered with moisture, owing to the proximity of the river. The floor of the cellar was a kind of stinking cesspool: one slipped on the greasy mud – floundered about in it: for all that, this cellar was almost entirely filled with cases of all kinds, with queer-looking bundles, with objects of various shapes and sizes. Evidently the jumble store of Mother Toulouche did not confine itself to the rough-and-ready shop in the front; and, into the bargain, this basement might be used as a safe hiding-place in an emergency, a precious refuge for whoever might feel it necessary to cover his tracks, and thus escape the investigations of the police for instance.

Mother Toulouche, as a matter of fact, needed such premises as hers: if she took ceaseless precautions it was because she had a reason for such uneasy watchfulness.

Mother Toulouche had already come into involuntary contact with the police; and her last and most serious encounter with them, went as far back as those days of renown when the band of Numbers had as their chief the mysterious hooligan Loupart, also known under the name of Dr. Chaleck. She had been arrested for complicity in a bank robbery, had been tried, and had been sentenced to twenty-two months’ imprisonment.

Not turned in the slightest degree from the error of her ways, and still possessing some stolen money, which she had kept carefully hidden, Mother Toulouche had decided to set up shop close to the Palais de Justice, that Great House where those gentlemen of the robe judged and condemned poor folk! She would say:

“Being so close to the red-robed ones, I shall end by making the acquaintance of one or two of them, and that may turn out a good job for me one of these days!” But this was merely a blind, for other considerations had led to Mother Toulouche renting this shop on the Isle of the City, in opening on the quay of the Clock, a quay but little frequented, her wretched junk store of odds and ends.

She had kept in touch with the band of Numbers, which had gradually come together again as soon as the various members of it had finished serving their time.

For a while they had lived unmolested, but lately misfortunes had laid a heavy hand on the group. Still, as the band began to break up, other members came to replace those who had disappeared, either temporarily or for good.