opening them very wide； and tossing her head on one side。 'Naturally；
yes。'
'He was a bad subject。'
'He was a wicked wretch；' said the landlady； 'and well merited what he
had the good fortune to escape。 So much the worse。'
'Stay； madame！ Let us see；' returned the Swiss； argumentatively turning
his cigar between his lips。 'It may have been his unfortunate destiny。
He may have been the child of circumstances。 It is always possible that
he had； and has； good in him if one did but know how to find it out。
Philosophical philanthropy teaches……'
The rest of the little knot about the stove murmured an objection to
the introduction of that threatening expression。 Even the two players
at dominoes glanced up from their game； as if to protest against
philosophical philanthropy being brought by name into the Break of Day。
'Hold there； you and your philanthropy；' cried the smiling landlady；
nodding her head more than ever。 'Listen then。 I am a woman； I。 I know
nothing of philosophical philanthropy。 But I know what I have seen； and
what I have looked in the face in this world here； where I find myself。
And I tell you this； my friend； that there are people （men and women
both； unfortunately） who have no good in them……none。 That there are
people whom it is necessary to detest without promise。 That there are
people who must be dealt with as enemies of the human race。 That there
are people who have no human heart； and who must be crushed like savage
beasts and cleared out of the way。 They are but few； I hope； but I have
seen （in this world here where I find myself； and even at the little
Break of Day） that there are such people。 And I do not doubt that this
man……whatever they call him； I forget his name……is one of them。'
The landlady's lively speech was received with greater favour at
the Break of Day； than it would have elicited from certain amiable
whitewashers of the class she so unreasonably objected to； nearer Great
Britain。
'My faith！ If your philosophical philanthropy；' said the landlady；
putting down her work； and rising to take the stranger's soup from her
husband； who appeared with it at a side door； 'puts anybody at the mercy
of such people by holding terms with them at all； in words or deeds； or
both； take it away from the Break of Day； for it isn't worth a sou。'
As she placed the soup before the guest； who changed his attitude to a
sitting one； he looked her full in the face； and his moustache went up
under his nose； and his nose came down over his moustache。
'Well！' said the previous speaker； 'let us e back to our subject。
Leaving all that aside； gentlemen； it was because the man was acquitted
on his trial that people said at Marseilles that the devil was let
loose。 That was how the phrase began to circulate； and what it meant；
nothing more。'
'How do they call him？' said the landlady。 'Biraud； is it not？'
'Rigaud； madame；' returned the tall Swiss。
'Rigaud！ To be sure。'
The traveller's soup was succeeded by a dish of meat； and that by a dish
of vegetables。 He ate all that was placed before him； emptied his bottle
of wine； called for a glass of rum； and smoked his cigarette with
his cup of coffee。 As he became refreshed； he became overbearing； and
patronised the pany at the Daybreak in certain small talk at which he
assisted； as if his condition were far above his appearance。
The pany might have had other engagements； or they might have felt
their inferiority； but in any case they dispersed by degrees； and not
being replaced by other pany； left their new patron in possession of
the Break of Day。 The landlord was clinking about in his kitchen； the
landlady was quiet at her work； and the refreshed traveller sat smoking
by the stove； warming his ragged feet。
'Pardon me； madame……that Biraud。'
'Rigaud； monsieur。'
'Rigaud。 Pardon me again……has contracted your displeasure； how？'
The landlady； who had been at one moment thinking within herself that
this was a handsome man； at another moment that this was an ill…looking
man； observed the nose ing down and the moustache going up； and
strongly inclined to the latter decision。 Rigaud was a criminal； she
said； who had killed his wife。
'Ay； ay？ Death of my life； that's a criminal indeed。 But how do you know
it？'
'All the world knows it。'
'Hah！ And yet he escaped justice？'
'Monsieur； the law could not prove it against him to its satisfaction。
So the law says。 Nevertheless； all the world knows he did it。 The people
knew it so well； that they tried to tear him to pieces。'
'Being all in perfect accord with their own wives？' said the guest。
'Haha！'
The landlady of the Break of Day looked at him again； and felt almost
confirmed in her last decision。 He had a fine hand； though； and he
turned it with a great show。 She began once more to think that he was
not ill…looking after all。
'Did you mention； madame……or was it mentioned among the gentlemen……what
became of him？' The landlady shook her head； it being the first
conversational stage at which her vivacious earnestness had ceased to
nod it； keeping time to what she said。 It had been mentioned at the
Daybreak； she remarked； on the authority of the journals； that he had
been kept in prison for his own safety。 However that might be； he had
escaped his deserts； so much the worse。
The guest sat looking at her as he smoked out his final cigarette； and
as she sat with her head bent over her work； with an expression that
might have resolved her doubts； and brought her to a lasting conclusion
on the subject of his good or bad looks if she had seen it。 When she did
look up； the expression was not there。 The hand was smoothing his shaggy
moustache。 'May one ask to be shown to bed； madame？'
Very willingly； monsieur。 Hola； my husband！ My husband would conduct him
up…stairs。 There was one traveller there； asleep； who had gone to bed
very early indeed； being overpowered by fatigue； but it was a large
chamber with two beds in it； and space enough for twenty。 This the
landlady of the Break of Day chirpingly explained； calling between
whiles； 'Hola； my husband！' out at the side door。
My husband answered at length； 'It is I； my wife！' and presenting
himself in his cook's cap； lighted the traveller up a steep and narrow
staircase； the traveller carrying his own cloak and knapsack； and
bidding the landlady good night with a plimentary reference to the
pleasure of seeing her again to…morrow。 It was a large room； with a
rough splintery floor； unplastered rafters overhead； and two bedsteads
on opposite sides。 Here 'my husband' put down the candle he carried； and
with a sidelong look at his guest stooping over his knapsack； gruffly
gave him the instruction； 'The bed to the right！' and left him to his
repose。 The landlord； whether he was a good or a bad physiognomist； had
fully made up his mind that the guest was an ill…looking fellow。
The guest looked contemptuously at the clean coarse bedding prepared for
him； and； sitting down on the rush chair at the bedside； drew his money
out of his pocket； and told it over in his hand。 'One must eat；' he
muttered to himself； 'but by Heaven I must eat at the cost of some other
man to…morrow！'
As he sat pondering； and mechanically weighing his money in his palm；
the deep breathing of the traveller in the other bed fell so regularly
upon his hearing that it attracted his eyes in that direction。 The man
was covered up warm； and had drawn the white curtain at his head； so
that he could be only heard； not seen。 But the deep regular breathing；
still going on while the other was taking off his worn shoes and
gaiters； and still continuing when he had laid aside his coat and
cravat； became at length a strong provocative to curiosity； and
incentive to get a glimpse of the sleeper's face。
The waking traveller； therefore； stole a little nearer； and yet a little
nearer； and a little nearer to the sleeping traveller's bed； until he
stood close beside it。 Even then he could not see his face； for he had
drawn the sheet over it。 The regular breathing still continuing； he put
his smooth white hand （such a treacherous hand it looked； as it went
creeping from him！） to the sheet； and gently lifted it away。
'Death of my soul！' he whispered； falling back； 'here's Cavalletto！'
The little Italian； previously influenced in his sleep； perhaps； by the
stealthy presence at his bedside； stopped in his regular breathing； and
with a long deep respiration opened his eyes。 At first they were not
awake； though open。 He lay for some seconds looking placidly at his
old prison panion； and then； all at once； with a cry of surprise and
alarm； sprang out of bed。
'Hush！ What's the matter？ Keep quiet！ It's I。 You know me？' cried the
other； in a suppressed voice。
But John Baptist； widely staring； muttering a number of invocations
and ejaculations； tremblingly backing into a corner； slipping on
his trousers； and tying his coat by the two sleeves round his neck；
manifested an unmistakable desire to escape by the door rather than
renew the acquaintance。 Seeing this； his old prison rade fell back
upon the door； and set his shoulders against it。
'Cavalletto！ Wake； boy！ Rub your eyes and look at me。 Not the name you
used to call me……don't use that……Lagnier； say Lagnier！'
John Baptist； staring at him with eyes opened to their utmost width；
made a number of those national； backhanded shakes of the right
forefinger in the air； as if he were resolved on negativing beforehand
everything that the other could possibly advance during the whole term
of his life。
'Cavalletto！ Give me your hand。 You know Lagnier； the gentleman。 Touch
the hand of a gentleman！'
Submitting himself to the old tone of condescending authority； John
Baptist； not at all steady on his legs as yet； advanced and put his
hand in his patron's。 Monsieur Lagnier laughed； and having given it a
squeeze； tossed it up and let it go。
'Then you were……' faltered John Baptist。
'Not shaved？ No。 See here！' cried Lagnier； giving his head a twirl； 'as
tight on as your own。'
John Baptist； with a slight shiver； looked all round the room as if to
recall where he was。 His patron took that opportunity of turning the key
in the door； and then sat down upon his bed。
'Look！' he said； holding up his shoes and gaiters。 'That's a poor trim
for a gentleman； you'll say。 No matter； you shall see how Soon I'll mend
it。 e and sit down。 Take your old place！'
John Baptist； looking anything but reassured； sat down on the floor at
the bedside； keeping his eyes upon his patron all the time。
'That's well！' cried Lagnier。 'Now we might be in the old infernal hole
again； hey？ How long have you been out？'
'Two days after you； my master。'
'How do you e here？'
'I was cautioned not to stay there； and so I left the town at once；
and since then I have changed about。 I have been doing odds and ends at
Avignon； at Pont Esprit； at Lyons； upon the Rhone； upon the Saone。' As
he spoke； he rapidly mapped the places out with his sunburnt hand upon
the floor。 'And where are you going？'
'Going； my master？'
'Ay！'
John Baptist seemed to desire to evade the question without knowing how。
'By Bacchus！' he said at last； as if he