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Updated: June 9, 2025
Don't know me, Nanty parnarly, and soap me down for a priest, or I will do for you all, you and your molls and your blunt." "What, do you funk our blabbing?" said Fil-de-Soie. "Have you come to help your boy to guy?" "Theodore!" said Jacques Collin, repressing a start and a cry. "They will have his nut off," la Pouraille went on; "he was booked for the scaffold two months ago."
Jacques Collin felt sick, his knees almost failed him; but his three comrades held him up, and he had the presence of mind to clasp his hands with an expression of contrition. La Pouraille and le Biffon respectfully supported the sacrilegious Trompe-la-Mort, while Fil-de-Soie ran to a warder on guard at the gate leading to the parlor.
Fil-de-Soie and le Biffon were always wheedling la Pouraille, who had lost all hope. The murderer knew that he would be tried, sentenced, and executed within four months. It is easy to understand why Fil-de-Soie and le Biffon should fawn on la Pouraille.
"I have been told," Jacques Collin went on, "that there is in this prison a man condemned to death." "The rejection of his appeal is at this moment being read to him," said Monsieur Gault. "I do not know what that means," said Jacques Collin, artlessly looking about him. "Golly, what a flat!" said the young fellow, who, a few minutes since, had asked Fil-de-Soie about the beans on the hulks.
No words can describe the amazement of the three convicts when a warder came to fetch Jacques Collin and led him to the condemned cell! With one consent they rushed up to the chair on which Jacques Collin was sitting. "To-day, isn't it, monsieur?" asked Fil-de-Soie of the warder. "Yes, Jack Ketch is waiting," said the man with perfect indifference.
"I mean to win his soul to heaven!" replied Jacques Collin fervently, seeing some other prisoners about him. And he joined the warder at the gate. "He got in to save Madeleine," said Fil-de-Soie. "We guessed rightly. What a boss he is!" "But how can he? Jack Ketch's men are waiting. He will not even see the kid," objected le Biffon. "The devil is on his side!" cried la Pouraille.
"How did you come in here, Monsieur l'Abbe?" asked the youth who had questioned Fil-de-Soie. "Oh, by a mistake!" replied Jacques Collin, eyeing the young gentleman from head to foot. "I was found in the house of a courtesan who had died, and was immediately robbed. It was proved that she had killed herself, and the thieves probably the servants have not yet been caught."
Selerier, alias l'Auvergnat, alias le Pere Ralleau, called le Rouleur, alias Fil-de-Soie he had thirty names, and as many passports will henceforth be spoken of by this name only, as he was called by no other among the swell-mob. This profound philosopher, who saw a spy in the sham priest, was a brawny fellow of about five feet eight, whose muscles were all marked by strange bosses.
"He will always be the boss of the swells," replied la Pouraille. "Our pieces are safe enough." La Pouraille, wishing to find some man he could trust, had an interest in considering Jacques Collin an honest man. And in prison, of all places, a man believes what he hopes. "I lay you anything, he will come round the big Boss and save his chum!" said Fil-de-Soie.
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