proofs for their conviction, might have let loose upon social life.
Never had any period been marked with more important discoveries than that which ushered in my debût in the service of the police; although scarcely enrolled in this administration, I had already done much for the safety of the capital, and even for the whole of France. Were I to relate half my successes in my new department, my readers' patience would be exhausted, I will simply make mention of an adventure which occurred a few months before I quitted the prison, and which deserves to be rescued from the general oblivion.
One afternoon a tumult arose in the court, which terminated in a violent pugilistic combat; at this hour in the day such there was as much ground for astonishment as if a duel had been fought between Orestes and Pylades. The two champions were Blignon and Charpentier, (called Chante à l'heure), known to live in that disgusting intimacy which has no excuse, even the most rigorous seclusion. A violent quarrel had arisen between them; it was said that jealousy had sprung up to disunite them: however this may be, when the action had ceased, Chante à l'heure, covered with contusions, entered the drinking shop to have his bruises fomented. I was there engaged at my game of piquet. Chante à l'heure, irritated with his defeat, was no longer master of himself; and as the brandy he had called for to wash his hurts, found its way almost unconsciously to his mouth instead, he became proportionably energetic; until at last his mind could no longer contain the angry burst of his feelings. "My good friend," said he to me, ("for you are my very good friend) do you see how this beggar of a Blignon has served me? But he shall not go off scot-free!"
"Oh, never heed him," I replied; "he is stronger than you, and you must mind what you are about. Do you wish to be half killed a second time?"
