This poverty-stricken chamber was the domicile of the odd fellow who passed his daylight hours in the company of Mother Toulouche, hob-nobbing with a hole-and-corner crew, cronies of the old receiver of stolen goods.

Overheated with running, Cranajour unbuttoned his coat, opened his shirt, sprinkled his face and the upper part of his body with cold water, sponged the perspiration from his brow, and brushed the dust off his big shoes.

It was a clear starlight night. To freshen himself up still more he put his head and shoulders out of the half-opened window. He was gazing at the roofs facing him; suddenly he started, and his eyes gleamed. They were the roofs, outlined against the night sky, of the Palais de Justice.

There was a shadow on the roof of the great building, a shadow which moved to and fro, passing from one roof ridge to another, now vanishing behind a chimney, now coming into view again. Anxiously Cranajour followed the odd movements of the mysterious indi vidual who was making his lofty and lonely promenade up above there.

“What the devil does it mean?” wondered the watcher. Whoever could have seen Cranajour at this moment would have been struck by the marked change produced in his physiognomy. This was not the Cranajour of the lazy eye, the silly smile, the stupid face, known to Mother Toulouche and her cronies; it was a transformed Cranajour, mobile of feature, lively of movement, a sharp, keen-witted Cranajour! Veritably another man!

Puzzled by the vagaries of the wanderer on the Palais roofs, Cranajour followed his movements intently for a few minutes longer. He would have remained at the window the whole night long had the unknown figure persisted in his patrols; but Cranajour saw him climb to the top of a chimney, a wide one, lower himself slowly into the opening of it, and then vanish from view!

Cranajour waited a while in hopes that the unknown man would not be long in coming out of his mysterious hiding-place again. He waited and expected in vain: the roofs of the Palais resumed their ordinary aspect– solitude reigned there.

Not long afterwards Cranajour re-entered the back store. “What a time you’ve been!” cried Mother Toulouche: “You’ve brought the newspaper, haven’t you?” Cranajour looked at the little company with his most stupid expression and then lowered his eyes:

“My goodness, I’ve forgotten to buy one!” he cried.

Nibet, who had paid but scant attention to the new arrival, continued his conversation with big Ernestine: they were talking about her lover, nicknamed the Beadle.