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He was out of temper, fretted by an overwhelming
sense of humiliation, and he hoped to clear his mind by walking.
In turning the corner of the Place du Bouffay he ran into a slightly
built, sallow-complexioned gentleman very neatly dressed in black,
wearing a tie-wig under a round hat. The man fell back at sight of
him, levelling a spy-glass, then hailed him in a voice that rang
with amazement.
"Moreau! Where the devil have you been hiding your-self these months?"
It was Le Chapelier, the lawyer, the leader of the Literary Chamber
of Rennes.
"Behind the skirts of Thespis," said Scaramouche.
"I don't understand."
"I didn't intend that you should. What of yourself, Isaac? And
what of the world which seems to have been standing still of late?"
"Standing still!" Le Chapelier laughed. "But where have you been,
then? Standing still!" He pointed across the square to a caf?
under the shadow of the gloomy prison. "Let us go and drink a
bavaroise. You are of all men the man we want, the man we have
been seeking everywhere, and - behold! - you drop from the skies
into my path.


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