_M. Milford Recognizes Cartouche_
|AT midnight an artisan was singing in a square in Paris, at the side
of the ancient Quarter d’Enfer, the hymn which several months later
became so popular, the “International.” That artisan was working
with several companions repairing the track, which had sustained certain
damages, following the construction of a new drain. The track was bent
in certain places, and even a house in that situation, a heavy new house
of seven stories, was leaning. The city engineers were much concerned
by this state of affairs. They knew that in this quarter the catacombs
projected their innumerable tunnels, their thousands of drains, and that
certain buildings were in a very precarious state.
There are ancient Gallic-Roman quarries under those tottering walls, and
so they determined on some work to make these houses secure.
The day which interests us saw the end of this work. The artisan who
sang the “International” had, with his companions, completed the
stopping of a hole in the subterranean vault that they had previously
strengthened with very heavy pillars, several meters high.
It was just about twilight when they relinquished their work, and the
workman who sang the “International” had almost finished stopping up
the hole at that hour.
At the same hour, not far away on the square, in front of an electrical
lamp store, a few people stood about on the pavement, and M. Mifroid
was buying a few lamps for his men. He had paid for them and was just
leaving the store with his package, when he saw in front of the store
a young man with white hair. He was so taken aback that he slipped into
his pockets, without having paid for them, several electrical lamps.
Always courageous, M. Mifroid bounded toward the man, crying: “It is
Cartouche!” He had recognized him, for since the revenge of the calf,
all the commissioners of police had the portrait of Cartouche in their
pockets. We should add that Mme. Longuet herself, and M. Lecamus,
immediately after the reading relative to the calf, had shut M. Longuet
up, with the design of sending an urgent communication to the nearest
Commissariat.
Then M. Mifroid, who had known our hero as Théophraste, when he had
dined with him, and who recognized him as Cartouche, cried out in
bounding toward him: “It is Cartouche!”
Théophraste had known for days what the police wanted with him, and
when he saw Mifroid and heard the words “It is Cartouche!” he said
to himself: “It is time for me to get out of this.” And he ran down
the street.
The commissioner ran on behind him, and was just grabbing him by the
collar, when they both fell down the hole which the workman was filling.
The man had left for a few minutes to drink with his companions at the
saloon near by, and on his return he completed his work, not knowing
that the two men had fallen, and so they were imprisoned.