Paris, when rain, sleet and the north wind drove me for shelter under
the arcades of the Odéon, and a kindly vendor of miscellaneous printed
matter and mouldy MSS. allowed me to rummage amongst a load of old
papers which he was about to consign to the rubbish heap. I imagine
that the notes were set down by the actual person to whom the genial
Hector Ratichon recounted the most conspicuous events of his chequered
career, and as I turned over the torn and musty pages, which hung
together by scraps of mouldy thread, I could not help feeling the
humour--aye! and the pathos--of that drabby side of old Paris which
was being revealed to me through the medium of this rogue's
adventures. And even as, holding the fragments in my hand, I walked
home that morning through the rain something of that same quaint
personality seemed once more to haunt the dank and dreary streets of
the once dazzling Ville Lumière. I seemed to see the shabby
bottle-green coat, the nankeen pantaloons, the down-at-heel shoes of
this "confidant of Kings"; I could hear his unctuous, self-satisfied
laugh, and sensed his furtive footstep whene'er a gendarme came into
view. I saw his ruddy, shiny face beaming at me through the sleet and
the rain as, like a veritable squire of dames, he minced his steps
upon the boulevard, or, like a reckless smuggler, affronted the grave
dangers of mountain fastnesses upon the Juras; and I was quite glad to
think that a life so full of unconscious humour had not been cut short
upon the gallows. And I thought kindly of him, for he had made me
smile.

There is nothing fine about him, nothing romantic; nothing in his
actions to cause a single thrill to the nerves of the most
unsophisticated reader. Therefore, I apologize in that I have not held
him up to a just obloquy because of his crimes, and I ask indulgence
for his turpitudes because of the laughter which they provoke.