by getting the upper hand. Our father would laugh at our warlike games, and explain every particular of the fight. He would show us just where Jocquet, Martin, and Millet stood, and what passes you both made. He always ended by saying: 'What a lucky thing it was that the fencing-master did not remain mad.'

If Joseph turned his back on Potiphar's wife I am certain that it was because she was old and ugly. He would not have left his cloak with Louise.

Days, weeks, and months rolled by-I had forgotten Paris, my wife-everything! A malicious woman whom I had known in the capital, and who knew me to be a married man, sold me to the Commissary of Police, who, in spite of the prayers of Captain Meunier and his daughter, arrested me and took me to prison.

Examined and tried, I was condemned (without being prosecuted). Commissary Birberin's hatred alone procured me two years' imprisonment. Thanks to Monsieur Charles Abbatucci, deputy, instead of working out my time at Lyons, I was transferred to the prison at Poissy. During my captivity Louise gave birth to a boy and died.

On leaving Poissy I became the nominal director of the Printers' Courier. It was during Cavaignac's dictatorship (June, 1848). One morning as I was

going to the office, Number 5, Rue Ponpée, the porter stopped me, saying

"Escape as soon as you can, my friend. The police have been here and broken open everything, and have taken the directors Rigol and Froment to the Prefecture."

I waited until Monsieur Pietri had been nominated Prefect of Police.

CHAPTER IV.

SECRET AGENT.

AFTER the coup d'état, which a witty man has called the catastrophe, de Maupas' place as Prefect of Police was taken by Monsieur Pietri, my compatriot and friend. The same day he arrived in Paris-he came from Toulouse, where, during the coup d'état, he had shown both courage and energy-his title of Corsican had caused him to be called to fill the most important post in the whole capital. He sent for me, and on the score of old acquaintance, and all that the Abbatuccis had told him, begged me to accept employment as a secret agent.

"You are the only Corsican who knows Paris. You will receive no orders except from me, and you will come in by the Cour des Comptes instead of entering with the others through Rue Jérusalem.'

In consequence of all these solicitations, and as I wished to make a position for myself, I accepted the more or less delicate functions of a secret agent.

Secret agents, secret police, are, in my eyes-in mine, who have had the honour to belong to theminstitutions invented by tyrants eager to procure funds without control and thirsting for despotism. Save in certain very rare cases, tho police are occupied only in watching each other. Some agents who are ambitious and intelligent invent plots, draw up the rules of the societies which they have created, and then, at the moment of action, have the wretches arrested who have let themselves be enticed away. And if the society have taken up arms and made a demonstration, then the instigating agent is made a Chevalier of the Legion of Honour, an officer of the peace, a commissary of police, &c. Several cases, which I shall choose from many others in order to make them public, will edify my readers as to the morality of the secret police. Nevertheless, there are occasions on which an intelligent secret agent is indispensable. The following two are amongst the number:

A few days after my admission the Prefect of Police summoned me to him and handed me a note worded thus:

"Monsieur le Préfet,-I hasten to tell you that, in the Faubourg St. Honoré, No.-, some wretches are fabricating an infernal machine with which to

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Keep this note; act as you think proper. I wish to find out what you can do, and if you may be entrusted with more important missions."

I left the room without any settled plan, and went straight to the Faubourg St. Honoré. Above the entrance to the house mentioned I saw : "Tenroomed apartment to let, 7,000 francs." The means of visiting the place were right to my hand. I hastened home to the Rue des Moulins, and dressed myself very smartly, adding several crosses to my buttonhole. Then I hied me to the Rue Basse du Rempart, to a Veuve Constant, livery-stable keeper. I ordered a two-horse carriage, with coat-of-arms, and a coachman and footman with powdered hair, and bade them take me to the 7,000 franc lodgings. When I arrived at the house the footman opened the door, and I told him to announce the Marquis de Chalet. At this aristocratic name, porter, doorkeeper, footmen, and servants all hastened to the entrance to see me alight. The porter took a bunch of keys and mounted the steps first to open the doors. I went through the apartment, examining