"Well， scholar of Antichrist， may you be strangled with the entrails of your mother！" exclaimed Phoebus， and he gave the drunken scholar a rough push； the latter slipped against the wall， and slid flabbily to the pavement of Philip Augustus. A remnant of fraternal pity， which never abandons the heart of a drinker， prompted Phoebus to roll Jehan with his foot upon one of those pillows of the poor， which Providence keeps in readiness at the corner of all the street posts of Paris， and which the rich blight with the name of "a rubbish-heap." The captain adjusted Jehan's head upon an inclined plane of cabbage-stumps， and on the very instant， the scholar fell to snoring in a magnificent bass. Meanwhile， all malice was not extinguished in the captain's heart. "So much the worse if the devil's cart picks you up on its passage！" he said to the poor， sleeping clerk； and he strode off.
The man in the mantle， who had not ceased to follow him， halted for a moment before the prostrate scholar， as though agitated by indecision； then， uttering a profound sigh， he also strode off in pursuit of the captain.
We， like them， will leave Jehan to slumber beneath the open sky， and will follow them also， if it pleases the reader.
On emerging into the Rue Saint-André-des-Arcs， Captain Phoebus perceived that some one was following him. On glancing sideways by chance， he perceived a sort of shadow crawling after him along the walls. He halted， it halted； he resumed his march， it resumed its march. This disturbed him not overmuch. "Ah， bah！" he said to himself， "I have not a sou."He paused in front of the College d'Autun. It was at this college that he had sketched out what he called his studies， and， through a scholar's teasing habit which still lingered in him， he never passed the fa？ade without inflicting on the statue of Cardinal Pierre Bertrand， sculptured to the right of the portal， the affront of which Priapus complains so bitterly in the satire of Horace， ~Olim truncus eram ficulnus~. He had done this with so much unrelenting animosity that the inscription， ~Eduensis episcopus~， had become almost effaced.
Therefore， he halted before the statue according to his wont.
The street was utterly deserted. At the moment when he was coolly retying his shoulder knots， with his nose in the air， he saw the shadow approaching him with slow steps， so slow that he had ample time to observe that this shadow wore a cloak and a hat. On arriving near him， it halted and remained more motionless than the statue of Cardinal Bertrand.
Meanwhile， it riveted upon Phoebus two intent eyes， full of that vague light which issues in the night time from the pupils of a cat.
The captain was brave， and would have cared very little for a highwayman， with a rapier in his hand. But this walking statue， this petrified man， froze his blood. There were then in circulation， strange stories of a surly monk， a nocturnal prowler about the streets of Paris， and they recurred confusedly to his memory. He remained for several minutes in stupefaction， and finally broke the silence with a forced laugh.
"Monsieur， if you are a robber， as I hope you are， you produce upon me the effect of a heron attacking a nutshell. Iam the son of a ruined family， my dear fellow. Try your hand near by here. In the chapel of this college there is some wood of the true cross set in silver."The hand of the shadow emerged from beneath its mantle and descended upon the arm of Phoebus with the grip of an eagle's talon； at the same time the shadow spoke，--"Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers！"
What， the devil！" said Phoebus， "you know my name！""I know not your name alone，" continued the man in the mantle， with his sepulchral voice. "You have a rendezvous this evening.""Yes，" replied Phoebus in amazement.
"At seven o'clock."
"In a quarter of an hour."
"At la Falourdel's."
"Precisely."
"The lewd hag of the Pont Saint-Michel."
"Of Saint Michel the archangel， as the Pater Noster saith.""Impious wretch！" muttered the spectre. "With a woman？""~Confiteor~，--I confess--."
"Who is called--？"
"La Smeralda，" said Phoebus， gayly. All his heedlessness had gradually returned.
At this name， the shadow's grasp shook the arm of Phoebus in a fury.
"Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers， thou liest！"Any one who could have beheld at that moment the captain's inflamed countenance， his leap backwards， so violent that he disengaged himself from the grip which held him， the proud air with which he clapped his hand on his swordhilt， and， in the presence of this wrath the gloomy immobility of the man in the cloak，--any one who could have beheld this would have been frightened. There was in it a touch of the combat of Don Juan and the statue.
"Christ and Satan！" exclaimed the captain. "That is a word which rarely strikes the ear of a Chateaupers！ Thou wilt not dare repeat it.""Thou liest！" said the shadow coldly.
The captain gnashed his teeth. Surly monk， phantom， superstitions，--he had forgotten all at that moment. He no longer beheld anything but a man， and an insult.