On the fifteenth of March, 1872, at nine o'clock in the evening, a carriage stopped at the door of a fans music-hall known as the Yellow Windmill. A man stepped out of the carriage. He was about thirty-five years old, tall, slender, with an intelligent and bold face, with a small blonde mustache very carefully turned up at the ends, a soft hat a little on one side, and was carefully gloved.

      For more than a quarter of an hour another man had been walking up and down the sidewalk. He wore an overcoat buttoned tightly to his chin; above it showed an edge of a somewhat soiled linen collar, around which was a worn satin cravat. He wore a large hat pulled down over his head, carried a heavy walking-stick, and had a florid face, thick mustache, and short side-whiskers.

      The two men greeted each other and exchanged a few words.

      "Here already, Dubrisart, eh?"

      "Marcou! So it is you who sent for me?"

      "Yes, it was I. But there are too many people and too much light on this sidewalk. Let us cross the boulevard."

      "Shall I keep the carriage?"

      "Yes, we shall be here but a little while, and then we shall return to the prefecture."

      They crossed the street, and when they found themselves on the opposite sidewalk, Marcou, the man with the buttoned-up overcoat, took the two hands of the other, Dubrisart, and shook them with effusion.

      "My dear Dubrisart, it delights me to see you again. You never come in your old haunts any more. You are engaged now in high and mighty political missions. I see that you sometimes go abroad. And when I think that you began as a subordinate in my squad of detectives, and that I was your superior —"

      "And you are still my friend, my dear Marcou. I have had luck, I have had assistance —"

      "Yes, and you have had merit, education, intelligence, distinguished manners; you know how to dress better than any one of the whole prefecture of police, better than the prefect himself; you belong to a good family; you know how to speak English, which brought you your first foreign missions under the empire when you went to England to see what was passing at Teck — at Tick — in short where the Orleans princes were."

      "At Twickenham."

      "Yes, that is it. As for me, my dear fellow, I have continued to vegetate in the same old affairs. Nevertheless, this evening a rather serious matter is on foot. Today there came to the prefecture a certain Aglaë Ripon. Oh, you don't know her! She is a celebrity of the cafés and music-halls. We were sitting, four or five of us, chatting around the stove, when this girl dashed in like a maniac, saying that she knew one of the chiefs of the Commune, a man who had pillaged, burned, shot, and done everything in that terrible time that those scoundrels could do. Naturally, we offered a chair to Mile. Ripon. In return she has offered to deliver to us this evening, at the ball of the Yellow Windmill, Stafner, who was a colonel under the Commune."

      "Stafner! Why that is the man who gave me a knife-stab in a little café at Belleville in 1860!"

      "Yes, and it is because I knew the history of that knife-stab that I have sent for you. I do not know him, this Stafner, but I thought that it would not displease you to aid us —"

      "Displease me! On the contrary, I shall be more than pleased. I will know him, have no fear. Is he to come this evening to the ball?"

      "At ten o'clock."

      "And Aglaë Ripon?"

      "Three of my detectives — Cervoisier, Poilat, and Chaulet — are going to bring her. They ought to be here now. Today, after having denounced the man, she wished to leave, but I did not let her go. I know them, I know women's tantrums. The anger of a woman subsides as it grows — in five minutes. All that was necessary was for her to run across her lover — for he is her lover — and she would be stricken with remorse, would warn him, and our little affair would be squelched. She had a rendezvous for this evening at ten o'clock with Stafner, so that made everything all straight. I told her that the government would look out for paying for her dinner and a carriage to take her to the ball, but that she would not be permitted to return home until she should have fixed Stafner for us. They are probably in that carriage which is stopping at the kerb."

      In fact, the door of a carriage opened a few paces from Dubrisart and Marcou. From it, flanked by three detectives in plain clothes, they saw emerge a tall girl, dressed in a gray gown and wearing a black hat with a big bunch of red roses. One of the detectives came at once to Marcou, while the others watched the woman, who looked around her with an uneasy air.

      "M. Marcou," said the agent, "you had better speak to this lady. She makes me uneasy. She would not eat any dinner, and she has been crying in the carriage. It is quite certain that she regrets what she has done and is afraid of what she has to do."

      "I will speak to her," said Marcou, and he approached the woman.

      "Listen!" said he. "None of this nonsense. You know your record is at the office of the prefecture. I have been looking it over today. There are some pretty bad doings in your record, and if we wanted to send you to the prison of Saint Lazare for five or six montns, there would be no lack of reasons. You know the place, don't you?"

      "Yes, I have been there twice, and I came out all right. People don't die there."

      "You had better look out, all the same," said Marcou, raising his voice, "because if you don't —"

      "Come, come!" said Dubrisart to Marcou, "you mustn't handle women that way. Let me fix her," and approaching her, he said: "Listen, my dear, you are right about Saint Lazare. It is not fatal to go there, and a woman in your position does not lose much in reputation by spending six months there. But you have honor, if not reputation, and you do not wish to smirch your honor. There — well, we will look out for it if you behave yourself, and no one shall know that you are the one who has given Stafner away. We shall take you into the ball-room and place you at a little table next to the orchestra, near to the little door leading into the garden. There you will remain with these three gentlemen, take a glass of wine and smoke cigarettes. It is the government that pays, you know. My friend here and I will be in the garden. When Stafner comes, you might go and meet him and endeavor to lead him out toward the street-door. But the detectives would throw themselves upon him. As for you, the detectives would tell everybody that you had sold your lover for fifty francs. But if you behave yourself and lead him nicely into the garden, we will nab both of you. Everything will be all right. No one will know that you have given him away, you will both be conducted to the prefecture, and you will be set at liberty in a quarter of an hour and can go and finish your evening where you please. Do you understand, and will you behave yourself? That's right, my dear, now run along with these gentlemen, and we will wait for you in the garden. And you fellows," said he, in a whisper, "see that she drinks plenty of wine!"

      Aglaë and the three detectives crossed the boulevard. Marcou looked at Dubrisart with marked admiration.

      "I understand," said he, "how you succeeded in making your way so rapidly. You know how to handle women —"

      "And men, too. You shall see. But let us go into the ball-room. It may amuse me to look at the dancers and to see Stafner again. I still have the mark of his knife on my arm."

      They walked up the staircase and entered an immense hall where the fumes of pipes and cigarettes were mingled. The orchestra, with brazen clangor, was playing a quadrille. Cocottes and servant-girls were dancing in the middle of the hall. All around the ball-room men and women were seated at the tables, drinking punch and smoking. Near the orchestra they saw Aglaë and the three detectives, already seated at a table around a bowl of punch. Dubrisart looked at the woman and made an imperceptible motion of the hand to her. She responded with a smile.

      "Come, old chap," said Dubrisart, "let us go out and smoke a cigar in the garden while we are waiting for Stafner. The woman will bring him. I will bet on that, and until she does, we have time to chat a little."

      The evening was chilly, and the garden was absolutely deserted. The two men seated themselves upon a bench.

      "I am going to give you a good cigar," said Dubrisart. "I bought three or four boxes of excellent ones at Antwerp."

      "Oh, have you been to Antwerp?"

      "Yes, three years ago, in the Count de Chambord matter."

      "You travel much?"

      "Yes, I have been on the road all the time since the fourth of September."

      "Did you remain at Paris during the siege?"

      "No. Since the fifth of September I saw that the provisional government was no good. Those gentlemen thought they could run Paris with no secret police. They were crazy. As I had a certain reputation, I was offered the secretaryship of a commissary of police, but I refused. I do not like sedentary positions. I must come and go and be on the road. I said to myself: 'Before long they will have to reorganize the secret police, and then they will need me.' I left Paris with a company of franc-tireurs. We did a guerilla warfare for two months in the forest of Orleans, and at the end of that time, as we were somewhat reduced in numbers and tattered, we went to Tours in order to recruit and equip. This was about the fifteenth of November.

      "The first person I met at Tours was big Versac, who, before the fourth of September, was a member of the palace squad. He told me that Gambetta was a man who had certain ideas concerning governing, and that, since his arrival, they were engaged in reorganizing the secret police. But there was much trouble; you can improvise other civil officials, but you can not improvise heads of secret police. I was given an excellent position, and when it was known that I had gone under the empire to Twickenham, to Baden, to Woodnorton, to watch over the Orleans princes, I was told: 'If that is the case, we must send you to discover where the Prince of Joinville is. He is concealed somewhere as a private soldier in the army.' So I set out to find the Prince of Joinville. A policeman becomes philosophical. Under the empire, I had been sent to run after the Orleans princes. Under the republic, I was also sent to run after the Orleans princes. We succeeded at last in catching the Prince of Joinville. It was in the army of the Loire, where he was fighting against the Prussians. We kept the prince prisoner for five days — from the thirteenth to the eighteenth of January — in the office of the prefect of police in Mans. Then it was I who took him to Saint-Malo to take the steamer for England. When I saw the Jersey packet bearing away the prince, I could not help thinking that all this was rather extraordinary. I had been taken from Tours, where I was in uniform and about to go to the front with my comrades. I was told to doff my uniform, and I had just expelled from France another man who also had been fighting against the Prussians, not to speak of the soldiers who had served us as escort from Mans to Saint-Malo, who also should have been fighting against the Prussians, like the prince and myself. However, when a man is in the secret police, and he likes his business, he must not examine too closely into his orders.

      "In truth, our trade is not a monotonous one — I, for example, who am chatting with you in the garden of the Yellow Windmill, I arrested on the thirteenth of January, 1871, the Prince of Joinville at Mans, and on the seventeenth of July of the same year the painter Courbet at Paris; then to think that I presented my respects on the seventeenth of January, 1872, at Chislehurst, to the Emperor Napoleon, and on the twenty-fourth of the following February, at Antwerp, to the Count of Chambord."

      "You have spoken to the emperor and to the Count of Chambord?"

      "Just as I am speaking to you, Marcou. At Chislehurst there was no particular difficulty about speaking to the emperor. You entered as if you were going into a hotel. You addressed the door porter. You told him that you were a Frenchman of distinction; that you desired to be received by the emperor. You left your name, your London address, and the next day you had your letter of audience. I had cooked up a very neat little Bonapartist history: My grandfather, a captain in the Imperial Guard, had been killed at Waterloo, etc. The affair went as smoothly as posting a letter. We were received in batches of ten or a dozen one Sunday after mass, in a little drawing-room hung with blue on the ground floor, and whom do you think I saw with the emperor? It was our former chief, M. Piétri. So, when my turn came to say a word or two, I indulged in a few phrases upon the changed condition of Paris, where there was no longer either security nor police. I added that everybody regretted the empire and the administration of M. Piétri. The emperor smiled, and, as I was about to go, Piétri came and shook hands with me and told me that I spoke like a patriotic Frenchman.

      "My campaign at Antwerp was more difficult. They sent for me at the head of the office of the police and said to me: 'Go to Antwerp and see what is going on there.' I asked permission to leave at my own day, at my own hour, and to act in my own way. They gave me authority and also gave me a free hand concerning expenses. There were five or six other detectives sent to Antwerp, but I allowed them to go, and I set out alone on the twenty-second of February. The pilgrimage of the royalists had already, set in toward Antwerp. I arrived early at the railway station of the northern line and closely scanned the passengers. I said to myself: 'The train leaves at seven in the morning and arrives at Antwerp at three o'clock. I must carefully choose my traveling compartment, enter into a conversation with my traveling companions, and thereby have people to vouch for me when I arrive at Antwerp. I have eight hours — six more than I need.'

      "I was, as you may readily imagine, irreproachably dressed, seriously, simply, dark colors, and all that sort of thing. I had brought with me as body servant big Versac — you know him, he whom I had run across again at Tours. We are great friends nowadays. We always work together. He is a very capable fellow, but he likes the subordinate roles, the roles without responsibility. He has been very well paid for his journey, by the way. He became very chummy on the way with a perfect little jewel of a royalist lady's-maid, and she told him oceans of things about some of the great houses of the Faubourg St. Germain. Versac is a handsome fellow, you know, and got the little lady's-maid so much infatuated with him that he looked her up when we came back to Paris, and now we have the door of one of the great royalist houses open to us.

      "In the station I noticed an elderly gentleman, accompanied by a lady of about thirty years of age, not pretty, but very agreeable. As I looked at them I said to myself, 'That is my game.' I went into the same compartment with them. I was not deceived. They were going to see the king — for, let me tell you, as soon as we were in the train, it was no longer correct to say 'the Count of Chambord,' one must say 'the king.' When we had gone some forty or fifty miles, we exchanged names and titles. The old gentleman was the Marquis de Boutasson. I called myself the Baron de Martonne de Lustrac. If I have a Bonapartist pedigree. I have also a very complicated Royalist pedigree, which is adroitly attached to the names of two extinct families. The name of the young lady I also learned. She was the daughter of the old marquis and widow of the Count de la Riballière. As we grew more confidential, the old marquis related his history to me. Of course, I related mine to him — I was a Frenchman who had been in South America and who had returned to fight for my country with a foreign, legion from Montevideo, etc. When we reached the station of Tergnier, they lunched. We went to the same table — the marquis, the countess, and myself.

      "At Antwerp we went to the same hotel, and that evening Versac took our two requests for audience to the address of the Count of Blacas at the Hotel Saint-Antoine. In his letter the marquis had spoken of me and in my letter I had spoken of the marquis. I was no longer alone. I had a godfather, and what a god-father! — a marquis with silver hair, curly silver hair at that, and a majestic and venerable air.

      "The next day we were received at the Hotel Saint-Antoine, all three of us, in batches of twenty to twenty-five persons. Yes, it was done exactly as at Chislehurst — in batches. When the king entered, there was profound emotion. The old marquis, especially, was like one overcome. He fell upon his knees. He wished to kiss the king's hand, and it was with great difficulty that he was lifted up. He began to weep, to babble, to say that now he had seen his king he could die, etc. We took him back to the hotel where we were stopping, and he was put to bed. We passed the entire evening by his bedside, the countess and I. Eight or ten persons of our batch of visitors came to inquire about the condition of the old marquis. The next day we returned these visits. I remained at Antwerp until the departure of the king, seeing a great deal of the royalist world. I returned to Paris with a report and copious notes, which gave me great honor at the office of the prefecture of police.

      "If I were a little more conceited, I might say that the countess had a fashion of leaning upon my arm and looking continually in my eyes when we were inspecting the pictures at the museum of Antwerp. Heigh, ho! perhaps I might have made a fine marriage."

      "M. Marcou, the man has come, and the woman is bringing him into the garden."

      As these words were uttered by one of their detectives, Dubrisart and Marcou sprang up, crossed the garden, and, standing upon the doorsteps, looked into the hall. Coming around the promenade they saw Aglaë Ripon upon the arm of a small man with red beard and gray coat and a soft hat. The small man spoke rapidly and seemed very animated. The woman did not seem to hear him. Her walk was vacillating. She looked fagged. She seemed to have taken much wine. Almost continually, with a mechanical movement of her left hand, she pushed back the three red roses which hung from her hat over her face. Behind them followed closely the two remaining detectives.

      "Do you recognize him?" said Marcou to Dubrisart.

      "No, he wore all his beard then, and he was a man with brown hair. Now I see a man without a beard and with red hair. But we shall see presently. I have a certain means of identifying him."

      When the woman reached the door leading into the garden and when she recognized Dubrisart and Marcou, who were concealed on either side of the door, she started, uttered a scream, and made as if to jump back into the room. But the two detectives seized both the man and the woman by the shoulders and pushed them violently into the garden, while Marcou closed the door. At this moment, the last notes of a quadrille sounded and five hundred voices were crying: "Encore!"

      "Let go the woman," said Dubrisart, "and bring the man here — here, under the gas-light Good! And you, my fine fellow, let me see your left hand. Yes, there they are. There are the marks of my three teeth. I was the one who made those marks there for you in exchange for your knife-stab. Put the bracelets on him, boys! It is Stafner, and no mistake."

*       *       *       *       *       *      *

      Dubrisart and Marcou arrived at half-past ten in the evening at the office of the prefect of police. One of the chiefs was there, and they made a report of their expedition.

      "Very good," said he. "You may go, Marcou. But as for you, Dubrisart, remain. I have a question to put to you. I have received several reports concerning the royalist receptions at Antwerp. In one of these reports I am informed that there was a certain Baron de Martonne de Lustrac. He publicly made the most outrageous threats against M. Thiers. Did you not see this Baron de Martonne de Lustrac?"

      "Yes, sir, I saw him."

      "Very well, then, why did you not speak of him in your report?"

      "Because I was the baron myself."

      "I thought as much. This is what comes of this opera bouffe police business. Each man for himself, without instructions and without discipline. Another matter — at every line in your report you speak of a certain Countess de la Riballière."

      "Yes, she was a high personage, and her father —"

      "The Marquis de Boutasson I know — I know — just wait a moment," and the chief went and opened a door.

      "Mme. Robert," he said, "will you be good enough to enter?"

      And the Baron de Martonne de Lustrac saw entering the Countess de la Riballière, dressed in simple and modest fashion. Both the baron and the countess stared at each other with the utmost bewilderment.

      "Mme. Robert, permit me to present M. Dubrisart. M. Dubrisart, this is Mme. Robert. Take a good look at each other, both of you, and I beg of you to be good enough, the next time you meet in the course of business, not to be engaged in doing police work one against the other."

      Dubrisart and Mme. Robert went out of the chief's office together, and as they were descending the staircase, Dubrisart said:

      "There is only one thing that knocks me. It is the old man. He positively had the noble air, the straight business. Where did you pick up the old duffer?"

      "He is my father," replied Mme. Robert. "He used to be an actor, and he was called absolutely perfect in the heavy fathers."

— Translated for the Argonaut from the French of Ludovic Halévy.
(1834-1908)