"I remember," said the prisoner in the blue cap and gray blouse, "it was
some small houses near the Rue du Rocher, and the Rue de la Pepiniere."

"Exactly, pal," replied Vinaigre; "the city streets, which, however, are
not full of palaces, would be lovely alongside of Little Poland, but,
otherwise, a famous resort for our lot; there were no streets, but lanes;
no houses, but hovels; no pavement, but a carpet of mud, so that the noise
of carriages would not have incommoded you if any passed; but none passed.
From morning to night, and, above all, from night till morning, what one
did not cease to hear, were cries, of '_watch_!' '_help_!' '_murder_!' but
the watch did not disturb himself. The more with their brains dashed out in
Little Poland--so many the less to be arrested!

"The swarming population, therein, you should have seen; very few jewelers,
goldsmiths, or bankers lodged there! but to make amends, there were heaps
of organ-players, rope-dancers, Punch-and-Judy-men, or keepers of curious
beasts. Among the latter was one named Cut-'em-in-half, so cruel was he;
above all, cruel toward children. They called him so, because, with a
hatchet, he had cut in two a little Savoyard!"

At this part of the story the prison clock struck a quarter past three. The
prisoners entering their sleeping apartments at four o'clock, the crime was
to be consummated before that hour.

"Thousand thunders! the keeper does not go," whispered the Skeleton to the
Big Cripple.

"Be quiet; once the story started, he will leave." Pique-Vinaigre continued
his recital.