'My name is Tom. I live at No. 109 Rue Faubourg St.-Denis. I have five francs in my purse. Two for a cab, and three for whoever takes me home.'
'True enough; there are the five francs,' cried the sergeant. 'Now then, two volunteers for escort duty.'
'Here!' cried the guard in chorus.
'Don't all speak at once! Let the two seniors have the benefit of the job; off with you, my lads.'
Two of the municipal guards advanced towards Tom, slipped a rope round his neck and, for precaution's sake, gave it a twist or two round his snout. Tom offered no resistance—the butt ends of the muskets had made him as supple as a glove. When they were fifty yards from the theatre, 'Bah!' said one of the soldiers, ''tis a fine morning. Suppose we don't take a cab. The walk will do him good.'
'Besides,' remarked the other, 'we should each have two and a half francs instead of only one and a half.'
'Agreed.'
Half an hour later they stood at the door of 109. After some knocking, a very sleepy portress looked out.
'Look here, Mother Wideawake,' said one of the guard; 'here's one of your lodgers. Do you recognise him?'
'Why, I should rather think so. It's Monsieur Decamps' bear!'
The same day, Odry the actor received a bill for little cakes, amounting to seven francs and a half.
