IT had become their habit in the Longuet flat to play dominoes in the evening. M. Adolphe was a good player, and always he used the Norman provincial names. When he played the double six, he would call the “double negro”; the five was “the dog that bites,” and so on. Marceline was always amused by these terms, and was always ready to play.

It happened on this particular evening that ThÉophraste lost his game, and after a short argument he began to sulk, and refused to play more. Seating himself in a chair near the window, he began reading the paper. He had strong political opinions.

Suddenly he was attracted by a strange headline. He read it and re-read it, and could not resist an exclamation. “Strange! Is not Cartouche dead, then?”

He could not help smiling. This hypothesis was so absurd. Then he ran over the first lines of the article and said: “My dear Adolphe, have you read this article? ‘Is not Cartouche dead, then?’ It is a strange, a surprising article.”

Adolphe and Marceline could hardly prevent a start, and looked at him with uneasiness.

ThÉophraste began to read the article aloud, as follows:

“‘For some days the police have been occupying themselves with one of the greatest of mysteries that have occurred in Paris, and with a series of odd crimes. They are endeavoring to hide from the public the most curious sides. Those crimes and the manner in which their perpetrator escapes from the police at the moment they think they have him, recall, point by point, the manner in which the celebrated Cartouche committed his crimes. If he was not enacting a thing so reprehensible, one could admire the perfect art with which the model is imitated. It is Cartouche to a finish! The police themselves have never dealt with a more mysterious bandit. Nevertheless, the administration, very mysteriously, but, we admit, very intelligently, has sent by some of them an abstract of Cartouche’s history, compiled from the manuscripts of the National Libraries. They thought, subtly, that the history of Cartouche would be useful to them, not only in the present task, which is to prevent the criminal outrages of the new Cartouche, and to arrest him, but also that Cartouche’s history ought to form a part of the general instruction to all the agents of police.

“‘Finally the news was brought to us that M. Lepine, Prefect of Police, has ordered them to devote several evenings in the Prefecture to listen to lectures on the authentic history of the illustrious bandit.’

“What do you say to that?” demanded ThÉophraste with merriment. “It is a merry farce, and the journalists are great fellows to issue such fibs.”

Neither Adolphe nor Marceline smiled. Marceline’s voice trembled slightly when she begged ThÉophraste to continue. He began to read again quietly:

“‘The first crime of the new Cartouche did not at all present the horror that we shall find in some of the others. It was a polite crime. Let us say at once that all the crimes of which we have any knowledge, and which they attribute to the new Cartouche, have been accomplished in the last fifteen days, at the North, and always from eleven o’clock in the evening to four o’clock in the morning.’”

Mme. Longuet rose, very pale. M. Lecamus made her sit down again, by a knowing shake of the head, and commanded her to be silent.

ThÉophraste said: “What is this that they want to tell with their new Cartouche? As for me, I only know the old one. After all, let’s see the gallant polite crime,” and he read it over more and more calmly:

“‘A pretty woman, well known in Paris, where her literary salon is frequented by all those who interest themselves with debates and with matters spiritualistic, was proceeding, toward morning, with her toilette for bed, and preparing to take a well-earned rest, following the fatigue which had wearied her that evening there with the disorder of a conference at home of the most illustrious of our pneumatics, when suddenly the casement of her balcony was opened quickly by a man with a figure a little over the medium, still young and vigorous (this last is in the report of the police), but with perfectly white hair. He had in his hand a brilliant nickel revolver.

“‘"Madame,” said he to the terrified woman, “compose yourself. I do not wish to do you any evil. Consider me the most humble of your servants. My name is Louis Dominique Cartouche, and I have no other ambition than to sup at your side. By the tripes of Mme. de Phalaris, I have the hunger of all the devils!” and he began to laugh.

“‘Mme. de B.-let us call her Mme. de B.- believed that she was dealing with a crazy man, but he declared he was only determined to take supper with her, which peculiar favor he had long desired. That man was much more dangerous than a crazy man, for it might be necessary to kill him on account of the brilliantly nickeled revolver.

“‘"Go,” said the man, “and call your people, and tell them to bring here to you a good supper. Do not give them a single explanation which would be likely to cause me any embarrassment or trouble, for if you do you will be a dead woman.”

“‘Mme. de B. then took her departure, for she was brave, with a mind sufficiently elevated to enable her to face the most unexpected adventures. She rang for the chambermaid, and a quarter of an hour later the man with the white hair and Mme. de B. were seated opposite each other in proper style, and apparently the best of friends. The supper was prolonged through the night (we do not wish to affirm anything as to this point, which is so interesting-but are a little skeptical as to the veracity of this story), so that the man did not descend by the sheet from the balcony until about sunrise. The beautiful Mme. de B. had not had supper, and so she did not complain about that forced supper, which she ended by partaking of in very good grace, nor had she seen the necessity of reporting her adventure to the Police Commissioner. And we see what the circumstances were. Some days later the Commissioner was announced at Mme. de B.’s. He told her that the ring that she wore on her finger, in which a magnificent diamond glittered, was the property of Mlle. Emily de Bescancon. Mme. de B. was of course ignorant of its value-or where it came from. It had been presented to her. But Mlle. Emily de Besancon, who had seen it on the finger of Mme. de B. the day before at a charity sale, claimed it formally as hers. She had furnished all sorts of proofs of it, and the diamond was set in such a unique way that there could be no doubt of it. Mme. de B. was infinitely troubled, and was obliged to relate the adventure which had befallen her. She spoke of the unknown, of the balcony, of the supper, of the gratitude he had shown her for his supper, and his placing the magnificent diamond on her finger, which he had obtained, he said, from a woman he had loved very much, a Mme. de Phalaris, who had been dead for some time. Mme. de B. could not be suspected. She furnished a proof-the nickel-plated revolver that the unknown had left on the table that night. Finally she begged the Commissioner of Police to take away from her house the hundred bottles of champagne of every choice brand that the unknown had sent to her the day after the eventful night, under the pretext that the supper had been exquisite, and that the only thing that could have been desired was champagne. She feared that the champagne, as well as the ring, had been stolen. The Commissioner acquitted the beautiful Mme. de B. He could do nothing at the time, the news being in everybody’s mouth, as the world at large would henceforth interest itself in the new Cartouche.

“‘This little adventure, which is the least important of those we have to relate, is the reproduction of what happened on the night of the 13th of July, 1721, at the house of Mme. la MarÉchale de Boufflers. She also was occupied in making her toilette. The young man, who came unexpectedly by way of the balcony, had no revolver in his hand, but he carried six English pistols. He demanded supper after presenting himself as Louis Dominique Cartouche, and the widow of Louis FranÇois, Duke of Boufflers, peer and Marshal of France, one of the heirs of Lille and of Malplaquet, supped with Cartouche, and late at night.

“‘Cartouche only complained of the champagne, and Mme. de Boufflers received a hundred bottles of it the next day. She had them taken, by her butler Patapon, into the cellars of a great financier.

“‘Some time after that one of Cartouche’s bands stopped an equipage in the streets of Paris. Cartouche leaned into the carriage to recognize the faces. It was Mme. la MarÉchale de Boufflers. He turned toward his people. “Give them liberty to pass on, now and always, Mme. de la MarÉchale de Boufflers!” ordered he in a ringing voice, and he bowed very low to the MarÉchale, after he had slipped on her finger a magnificent diamond that he had probably stolen from Mme. de Phalaris. Mme. de Phalaris never saw it again.

“‘Now let us pass on to the crime in the Rue du Bac.’”