At the moment when Trompe-la-Mort appeared in the sort of frame to his figure made by the door into the tower, the prisoners, having made their purchases at the stone table called after Saint-Louis, were scattered about the yard, always too small for their number.  So the newcomer was seen by all of them at once, and all the more promptly, because nothing can compare for keenness with the eye of a prisoner, who in a prison-yard feels like a spider watching in its web.  And this comparison is mathematically exact; for the range of vision being limited on all sides by high dark walls, the prisoners can always see, even without looking at them, the doors through which the warders come and go, the windows of the parlor, and the stairs of the Tour Bonbec —­the only exits from the yard.  In this utter isolation every trivial incident is an event, everything is interesting; the tedium—­a tedium like that of a tiger in a cage—­increases their alertness tenfold.

It is necessary to note that Jacques Collin, dressed like a priest who is not strict as to costume, wore black knee breeches, black stockings, shoes with silver buckles, a black waistcoat, and a long coat of dark-brown cloth of a certain cut that betrays the priest whatever he may do, especially when these details are completed by a characteristic style of haircutting.  Jacques Collin’s wig was eminently ecclesiastical, and wonderfully natural.

“Hallo!” said la Pouraille to le Biffon, “that’s a bad sign!  A rook! (sanglier, a priest).  How did he come here?”

“He is one of their ‘narks’” (trucs, spies) “of a new make,” replied Fil-de-Soie, “some runner with the bracelets” (marchand de lacets —­equivalent to a Bow Street runner) “looking out for his man.”

The gendarme boasts of many names in French slang; when he is after a thief, he is “the man with the bracelets” (marchand de lacets); when he has him in charge, he is a bird of ill-omen (hirondelle de la Greve); when he escorts him to the scaffold, he is “groom to the guillotine” (hussard de la guillotine).

To complete our study of the prison-yard, two more of the prisoners must be hastily sketched in.  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 had an enormous head in which a pair of half-closed eyes sparkled like fire—­the eyes of a bird of prey, with gray, dull, skinny eyelids.  At first glance his face resembled that of a wolf, his jaws were so broad, powerful, and prominent; but the cruelty and even ferocity suggested by this likeness were counterbalanced by the cunning and eagerness of his face, though it was scarred by the smallpox.