anton had to wait a long time, until he felt both cross and impatient, and when at last cecile and maurice returned to the funny little attic in the cite, joe almost immediately followed them.
joe told the children that he had made very exact inquiries, and that he believed they might start for the south the next day. he spoke, of course, in english, and, never supposing that anton knew a word of that tongue was at no pains to refrain from discussing their plans in his presence.
anton, apparently engaged in puffing a pipe in a corner of the room with his eyes half shut, looking stupid and half asleep, of course took in every word.
"they would start early the next morning. oh, yes! they were more than welcome; they might go to the south, the farther from him the better, always provided that he secured the purse first."
as he smoked, he laid his plans. he was quite sure that one of the children had the purse. he suspected the one to be joe. but to make sure, he determined to search all three.
he must search the children that night. how should he accomplish his search?
he thought. bad ideas came to him. he went out.
he went straight to a chemist's, and bought a small quantity of a certain powder. this powder, harmless in its after-effects, would cause very sound slumber. he brought in, and contrived, unseen by anyone, to mix it in the soup which the old grandmother was preparing for the evening meal. all—pericard, toby—all should partake of this soup. then all would sleep soundly, and the field would be open for him; for he, anton, would be careful not to touch any.
he had made arrangements before with the old grandmother to have a shake-down for the night in one of her rooms; from there it would be perfectly easy to step into the little attic occupied by the children, and secure the precious purse.
his plans were all laid to perfection, and when he saw six hungry people and a dog partaking eagerly of good mme. pericard's really nourishing soup, he became quite jocund in his glee.
an hour afterward the drugged food had taken effect. there was not a sound in the attics. anton waited yet another hour, then, stepping softly in his stockinged feet, he entered the little room, where he felt sure the hidden treasure awaited him.
he examined joe first. the lad was so tired, and the effect of the drug so potent, that anton could even turn him over without disturbing his slumbers. but, alas! feel as he would, there was no purse about joe—neither concealed about his person, nor hidden under his pillow, was any trace of what anton hoped and longed to find. half a franc he took, indeed, out of the lad's pocket—half a franc and a couple of centimes; but that was all.
anton had to own to himself that whoever had the purse, joe had it not.
he went over to the next bed, and examined little maurice. he even turned toby about.
last of all, he approached where cecile lay. cecile, secure in her perfect trust in the heavenly guide, sure of the righteousness of her great quest, was sleeping as such little ones sleep. blessed dreams were filling her peaceful slumbers, and there is no doubt that angels were guarding her.
the purity of the white face on which the moon shone filled the bad man who approached her with a kind of awe. he did not call the feeling that possessed him by that name; nevertheless, he handled the child reverently.
he felt under the pillow, he felt in the little frock. ah! good and clever miss smith! so thoroughly, so well had she done her work, that no touch of hard metal came to anton's fingers, no suspicion of the money so close to him entered his head.
having heard at warren's grove of a purse, it never occurred to him to expect money in any other way. no trace of that russia-leather purse was to be found about cecile. after nearly an hour spent in prowling about, he had to leave the children's room discomfited; discomfited truly, and also not wholly unpunished. for toby, who had been a good deal satisfied with rolls and morsels of butter, in the feast made earlier in the day by pericard, had taken so sparingly of the soup that he was very slightly drugged, and anton's movements, becoming less cautious as he perceived how heavy was the sleep over the children, at last managed to wake the dog. what instinct was over toby i know not. but he hated anton. he now followed him unperceived from the room, and, just as he got into the passage outside, managed to insert his strong teeth deep into his leg. the pain was sharp and terrible, and the thief dared not scream. he hit toby a blow, but not a very hard one, for the dog was exactly behind him. toby held on for a moment or two, ascertained that the wound was both deep and painful, then retreated to take up his post by cecile's pillow. nor did the faithful creature close his eyes again that night. anton, too, lay awake. angry and burning were his revengeful thoughts. he was more determined than ever to find the purse, not to let his victims escape him. as to toby, he would kill him if he could. there seemed little doubt now that the children had not the purse with them. still anton remembered joe's confused manner when he had sounded him on the subject of money. anton felt sure that joe knew where the purse was. how could he force his secret from the lad? how could he make him declare where the gold was hidden? a specious, plausible man, anton had, as i before said, made friends with joe. joe in a moment of ill-advised confidence had told to anton his own sad history. anton pondering over it now in the darkness, for there was no moon shining into his bedroom, felt that he could secure a very strong hold over the lad.
joe had been apprenticed to a frenchman, who taught him to dance and play the fiddle. anton wondered what the law bound these apprentices to. he had a hazy idea that, if they ran away, the punishment was severe. he hoped that joe had broken the law. anton resolved to learn more about these apprentice laws. for this purpose he rose very early in the morning and went out. he was absent for about two hours. when he returned he had learned enough to make up a bad and frightening tale. truly his old plans had been defeated in the night. but in the morning he had made even worse than these. he came in to find the children awakening from the effects of their long slumber, and joe audibly lamenting that they were not already on their way.
"not yet," said anton, suddenly dropping his french and speaking to the astonished children in english as good as their own, "i have a word to say about that same going away. you come out with me for a bit, my lad."
joe, still heavy from the drug, and too amazed to refuse, even if he wished to do so, stumbled to his feet and obeyed.
cecile and maurice chatted over the wonderful fact of anton knowing english, and waited patiently. there was no pericard to amuse them to-day; he had gone out long ago. they waited one hour—two hours—three hours, still no joe appeared. at the end of about four hours there was a languid step on the stairs, and the lad who had gone away—god knows with how tranquil a heart—reappeared.
where was his gayety? where had the light in his dark eyes vanished to? his hands trembled. fear was manifest on his face. he came straight up to cecile, and clasping her little hands between both his own, which trembled violently, spoke.
"oh, cecile! he's a bad man. he's a bad, bad man, and i am ruined. we're all ruined, cecile. is there any place we can hide in—is there any place? i must speak to you, and he'll be back in half an hour. i must speak to you, cecile, before he comes back."
"let's run away," said cecile promptly. "let's run away at once before he comes again. there must be lots of hiding places in paris. oh! here's pericard. pericard, i know, is faithful. you ask pericard to hide us, joe. to hide us at once before anton comes back."
