The Cincinnati daily star. [volume] ([Cincinnati, Ohio]) 1875-1880, 1879-11-07

/ ClICuiiiStdHCeS III WAS VI tllt ulHloSu liz
portance that the Prefect should be
warned at once, in,order that the entire
brigade of the secret police might be
thrown out over the capital like a huge
net closing its meshes over all the rail
way stations and the gates which lead
out of Paris. The truth is, though, that
the persons who are hunting for Napo-
Icons heir dreaded to be called sharply
to task for dereliction of duty in suffer
ing their precious charge to slip out I'M
observed; and they hoped that by putting
their best feet foremost they might be
successful in overtaking His Highness
without police assistance.
Louis Conneau avouched that the
potato-stall which had tempted his COM
rade was within aebtone's throw Of the
| Tuileries, and, as to Lycees, it was prob
able that the one which the Prince knew
best by sight was that of Charlemagne,
near the Bastille end of the Rue de Ri
voli. &c. NM. Monnier, Bachon and
Uhlmann, along with young Conneau,
might soon have been seen seudding
across the Place du Carrousel towards
the Rue de Rivoli entrance; but so well
used the police of the Tuileries to be
conducted in those times, that couple
of the palace Observation-Disclosures
gentlemen, with red ribands in their
button-holes-who saw them hurry out,
suspected something wrong, and stole
after Them Perhaps they fancied that
M. Monnier had purloined some of the
crown diamonds, and that M. Bachon
and M. Uhlmann were going with him
to share the proceeds. Mistrust of hon
est men is the prime virtue of detectives.
The old woman who kept the fried-po-
tato stall at the Rue st. Honore and the
Rue des Bons Enfants was known in the
quarter by the nickname of Mere Rissole.
She was rather a character in her way !;
and, though not possessed of such fine
literary and artistic collections as her sis
ter-friers who sell potatoes to the rising
talent of the Quarter Latin, she never
theless welded some social influence by
reason of having some hundred garrulors
female concierges for her customers. To
such a woman any bit of news was well
come as a broad piece of silver, and worth
it, for it helped her to keep her custom
ers in patience while the process of slow
ly gliding the potatoes in the kissing
grease was going on. Wherefore, Mother
Rissole fairly painted with excitement
when she was aceosted by three perspiring
men and a little boy, who all asked her
with breathless eagerness whether she
had seen another little boy aged about
nine, dressed in black velvet-a hand
some boy. with large soft eyes and win
ming wavs-"in fact, the Prince Im-
perial," blurted out poor M Monnier,
who was beginning to have misgivings
lest he should sleep at Mazas and subse-
quently be tried on a capital charge.
"You must know the Prince Imperial,
madame; tell us truly whether you have
seen him."
"Seigneur Dieu Why, it must be the
boy who came here about an hour ago.
but | didn't notice him." exclaimed the
old woman, dropping her knife into the
frying-pan from surprise, and splashing a
drop of scalding grease on to the round
chin of M. Bachon, who murmured a
benison as he wiped it off. "Mon Dieu!
mon Dieu" added she, 'why, he gave me
franc, and wouldn't take any change;
then he walked off with shabby man in
a bad hat, who often comes to NE to buy
his breakfast"
Shabby man-bad hatw echoed M.
Monnier, beside himself. (Which way
did they go? Quick! we haven't a
moment to lose"
"I really don't know answered Mother
Rissole, bewildered.
"Do you know where this shabby GUS
toner of yours lives?" asked NJ. Bachon,
putting more practical question.
as his hat so very bad? Perhaps we
might know him by that" asked Louis
Conneau, anxious also to display his acu-
men.
II don't know where the man lives
but I've heard that he's a journalist"
answered the fried-potato woman. ''He
sometimes gives me bundle of news
papers to pay for his breakfast instead of
money"
"What papers? inquired NJ. Monnier.
'I don't know, sir; | can't read" was
the puzzled answer.
"Anyhow, the mans Radical" opined
NJ. Bachon. "No Conservative writer
would come to buy fried potatoes at a
stall and pay for them in kind"
This little sally made no one smile, for
matters were beginning to look ugly.
The Crown Prince in the hands of q
shabby Radical might mean all sorts of
abominable things, not the least probable
of which might be the demand for a
humping ransom. To make matters
worse, it began to rain at that moment,
and the party had, of course, no UNI
brelIas. They could not get into cab,
because it was now their duty to walk
up the Rue Riyoli as far as the College
Charemagne and see if they could
not fall in with the Prince on
their way. Damp and wretehed, they
trudged off on their unpromising errand,
little Conneau having to run to keep pace
with them sthe two detectives, who had
never lost sight of them, followed at a
respectful distance behind. By the time