May had covered but a short distance. He was sauntering along with his
hands in his pockets; his head high in the air, his manner composed and
full of assurance. Had he reflected that it would be dangerous to run
while so near the prison from which he had just escaped? Or was he of
opinion that as an opportunity of flight had been willingly furnished
him, there was no danger of immediate rearrest? This was a point Lecoq
could not decide. At all events, May showed no signs of quickening his
pace even after crossing the bridge; and it was with the same tranquil
manner that he next crossed the Quai aux Fleurs and turned into the Hue
de la Cite.
Nothing in his bearing or appearance proclaimed him to be an escaped
prisoner. Since his trunk--that famous trunk which he pretended to have
left at the Hotel de Mariembourg--had been returned to him, he had been
well supplied with clothing: and he never failed, when summoned before
the magistrate, to array himself in his best apparel. The garments he
wore that day were black cloth, and their cut, combined with his manner,
gave him the appearance of a working man of the better class taking a
holiday.
His tread, hitherto firm and decided, suddenly became uncertain when,
after crossing the Seine, he reached the Rue St. Jacques. He walked more
slowly, frequently hesitated, and glanced continually at the shops on
either side of the way.
"Evidently he is seeking something," thought Lecoq: "but what?"
It was not long before he ascertained.
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