poorly dressed a customer. But the old man had left behind him in the
Hotel de Perou every sign of humility and servility, and, making his way
to the least crowded portion of the shop, he called out in imperative
accents, "M. Melusin!"

Very much surprised, the grocer ceased his avocation and hastened to
obey the summons. "How the deuce does the man know me?" muttered he,
forgetting that his name was over the door in gilt letters fully six
inches long.

"Sir," said Daddy Tantaine, without giving the grocer time to speak,
"did not a young woman come here about half an hour ago and change a
note for five hundred francs?"

"Most certainly," answered M. Melusin; "but how did you know that? Ah,
I have it!" he added, striking his forehead; "there has been a robbery,
and you are in pursuit of the criminal. I must confess that the girl
looked so poor, that I guessed there was something wrong. I saw her
fingers tremble."

"Pardon me," returned Daddy Tantaine. "I have said nothing about a
robbery. I only wished to ask you if you would know the girl again?"

"Perfectly--a really splendid girl, with hair that you do not see every
day. I have reason to believe that she lives in the Rue Hachette. The
police are not very popular with the shopkeeping class; but the latter,
desirous of keeping down crime, generally afford plenty of information,
and in the interests of virtue will even risk losing customers, who go
off in a huff at not being attended to while they are talking to the
officers of justice. Shall I," continued the grocer, "send one of the