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“Léon, if you bring me back the little red book, I will give you some chocolates.”
The child grew thoughtful; and in the evening, as Monsieur Sariette was going downstairs, he met Léon, who said:
“There’s the book!”
And, helding out a much-torn picture-book called The Story of Gribouille, demanded his chocolates.
A few days later the post brought Maurice the prospectus of an enquiry agency managed by an ex-employee at the Prefecture of Police; it promised celerity and discretion. He found at the address indicated a moustached gentleman morose and care-worn, who demanded a deposit and promised to find the individual.
The ex-police official soon wrote to inform him that very onerous investigations had been commenced and asked for fresh funds. Maurice gave him no more and resolved to carry on the search himself. Imagining, not without some likelihood, that the angel would associate with the wretched, seeing that he had no money, and with the exiled of all nations—like himself, revolutionaries—he visited the lodging-houses at St. Ouen, at la Chapelle, Montmartre, and the Barrière d’Italie. He sought him in the doss-houses, public-houses where they give you plates of tripe, and others where you can get a sausage for three sous; he searched for
