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Updated: May 6, 2025
None being forthcoming, he proceeded with his story. "Father Tringlot was an uneducated man, entirely ignorant of the law. He did not inform the authorities that he had found a child, and, for this reason, although I was living, I did not legally exist, for, to have a legal existence it is necessary that one's name, parentage, and birthplace should figure upon a municipal register.
For instance, the second bureau of the Prefecture de Police found positive traces of the existence of a strolling artist, named Tringlot, who was probably the man referred to in May's story. This Tringlot had been dead several years.
By the prisoner's discomfited mien one might have supposed that he had expected to see the prison doors fly open at the conclusion of his narrative. "I have a profession," he replied plaintively. "The one that Mother Tringlot taught me. I subsist by its practise; and I have lived by it in France and other countries." The magistrate thought he had found a flaw in the prisoner's armor.
He stopped the horses, alighted from the vehicle he was in, went to the ditch, picked up the object he had noticed, and uttered a cry of surprise. You will ask me what he had found? Ah! good heavens! A mere trifle. He had found your humble servant, then about six months old." With these last words, the prisoner made a low bow to his audience. "Naturally, Father Tringlot carried me to his wife.
He sat himself dawn, threw his head back, passed his tongue over his lips as if to moisten them, and said: "Am I to understand that you wish to hear my history?" "Yes." "Then you must know that one day about forty-five years ago, Father Tringlot, the manager of a traveling acrobatic company, was going from Guingamp to Saint Brieuc, in Brittany.
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