Year: 1879

Not word more, gssped M. Monner,
for they were nearing sentry, and obser we'd
the captain of the guard standing on the
steps of the Partition de F2ore and shifting the
air,as If he smelt something in the wind
Come along, come along, we must keep this
from the Emperor he would become i'll from
alarm


And from the Empress, whispered NJ.
Bachon,who feared that her Msjesty's wrath
might possibly not manifest itself in silent
prostration.


1t was great responsibility that the par
ty were assuming in concealing the Princes
disappearance from the Emperor for there
was standing order at court that if any,
thing happened to the Prince his Majesty
was to be informed of it without delay and
that the Prefect of Police was to be tele
graphed for. 1t was just possible that the
Prince might have been kidnapped and
under these circumstances it was of the ut.
most Importance that the Prefect should be
warned at once in order that the entire br-
gade of the secret police might be thrown
out over the capital like huge net closing
its meshes over the railway stations and the
gates which lead out of Paris. The truth is,
though, that the persons who were hunting
for Napoleon's heir dreaded to be called
sharply to task for dereiction of duty in
suffering their precious charge to slip out
unobserved and that they hoped that by
putting their best feet foremost they might
be successful in overtsking his Highness
without police assistance. Louis Conneau
avouched that the potato stall which had
tempted his comrade was within stones
throw of the Tuieries, and as to Lycees, it
was probable that the one which the Prince
knew best by sight was that of Charemagne,
near the Bastille end of the Rue de Rivoli.
So NJ. Monnier, Bachon, and Uhlmann,
along with young Conneau, might soon have
been seen scudding across the Place du
Carrousel toward 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 gen.
tlemen, with red ribands in their button
holes-who saw them hurry out, suspected
something wrong, and stole after them. Per-
haps they fancied that NJ. Monnier had
purloned some of the crown diamonds, and
that M. Bachon and M. Uhlmann were
going with him to share the proceeds. Mis-
trust of honest men is the prime virtue of
detectives.


The old woman who kept the fried potato
stall at the corner of the Rue st. Honore
and the Rue des Bons Enfants was known
in the quarter by the nickname of Mere
Rissole. She was rather character in her
way and, though not possessed of such fine
literary and artistic collections as her sister
friers who sell potatoes to the rising talent of
the Quarter Latin, she nevertheless welded
some social influence by reason of having
some hundred garrulous female concierges
for her customers. To such a woman any
bit of news was welcomed as a broad piece
of silver, and worth it, for it helped her to
keep her customers in patience while the
process of slowly gliding the potatoes in the
kissing grease was going on. Wherefore.
Mother Rissole fairly painted with excite
ment when she was accosted by three per
spring 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 handsome boy,
with large soft eyes and winning ways-"in
fact, the Prince Imperial" blurted out poor
Nj. Monnier, who was beginning to have
miseivings lest he should sleep at Mazas and
subsequently be tried on capital charge
you must know the Prince Imperial, mad
ame 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 wo-
man, dropping her knife into the frying-pan
from surprise, and splashing drop of scald
ing grease on to the round chin of NJ. Bach.
on, who murmured benison as he wiped it
off. Mon Dieu mon Dieup p added she,
why, he gave me franc, and would't take
any change-then he walked off with a
shabby man in bad hat, who often comes
to me to buy his breakfast


Shabby man-bad hat ? echoed NJ. Mon
nier, beside himself Which way did they
go? Quick we've not a moment to
lose.'


Il really don't know answered Mother
Rissole, bewildered.


DO you know where this shabby customer
of yours lives p asked NJ, Baclion, putting a
more practical question.


rs his hat so very bad Perhaps we might
know him by that asked Louis Conneau,
anxious also to display his acumen.


Il don't know where the man lives, but
I've heard that he's journalist, answered
the fried potato woman. He sometimes
gives me bundle of newspapers to pay for
his breakfast instead of money


What papers p inquired NJ. Monner.


Il don't know, sir can't read,' was the
puzzled answer.


Anyhow, the man s Radical opined M.
Bachon. No Conservative writer would
come to buy fried potatoes at 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 a shabby Rad
ical might mean all sorts of abominable
things, not the least probable of which
might be the demand for humping ran,
som. To make matters worse, it began to
rain at that moment, and the party had OF
course, no umbrellas. They could not get
into cab, because it was now their duty to
walk up the Rue Rivoli as far as the College
Charlemagne and see if they could not fall
in with the Prince on their way. Damp and
wretched, they trudged off on their unprom.
ising errand, little Conneau having to run tC
keep pace with them, followed at respect.
ful distance behind. By the time they
reached the Hotel de Vile they were drip.
ping sops and upon arriving at the college
they were steaming from heat and moisture
like boiled vegetables. Unhappily their per
severance was not to be rewarded, for OF
LII :. 4