He wore a dirty blue blouse and a hideous old slouch hat,
which was well-nigh in tatters. He had, in fact, rather exaggerated his
make-up, for his sinister physiognomy attracted especial attention even
beside the depraved and ferocious faces of the other customers in
the shop. For this low eating-house was a regular den of thieves and
cut-throats. Among those present there were not four workmen really
worthy of that name. The others occupied in eating and drinking there
were all more or less familiar with prison life. The least to be dreaded
were the barriere loafers, easily recognized by their glazed caps and
their loosely-knotted neckerchiefs. The majority of the company appeared
to consist of this class.
And yet May, that man who was so strongly suspected of belonging to the
highest social sphere, seemed to be perfectly at home. He called for the
regular "ordinary" and a "chopine" of wine, and then, after gulping down
his soup, bolted great pieces of beef, pausing every now and then to
wipe his mouth on the back of his sleeve. But was he conversing with his
neighbor? This it was impossible to discern through the glass door, all
obscured by smoke and steam.
"I must go in," said Lecoq, resolutely. "I must get a place near them,
and listen."
"Don't think of such a thing," said Father Absinthe. "What if they
recognized you?"
"They won't recognize me."
"If they do, they'll kill you."
Lecoq made a careless gesture.
"I certainly think that they wouldn't hesitate to rid themselves of me
at any cost.
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