ing their breath, and soon a second cry, or rather a wild howl, resounded.
"Ah!" exclaimed the captain of the guard, "it is at the Poivrière."[1]
This peculiar appellation described exactly the place which it designated, and the guests that were wont to frequent it.
In figurative language that has its source in Mount Parnassus, they say that a man is "peppered" when he leaves his good sense in the bottom of his glass; hence the sobriquet of "stealers of pepper" given to the rascals whose specialty is to plunder inoffensive and helpless drunken men.
"What!" added Gevrol, "you do not know Mother Chupin's drinking saloon there, on the right. Run."
And setting the example, he dashed off in the direction indicated. His men followed, and in less than a minute they reached a hovel, sinister of aspect and standing alone.
It was indeed from this house that the cries had proceeded. They were repeated, and were immediately followed by two pistol shots.
The house was hermetically closed, but through the heart-shaped windows covered with shutters, filtered a reddish light like that of a fire.
One of the policemen darted to one of these windows, and raising himself up by clinging to the shutters with his hands, he endeavored to peer through the cracks, and to see what was passing within.
Gevrol himself ran to the door. "Open!" he commanded, striking it heavily.
No response.
But they could hear plainly the sound of a terrible
- ↑ Pepper-box.
