He replied politely in French that he did not speak Rommany, and only understood French and Walloon.

Yet he seemed to understand perfectly the drift of my question, and to know what Gipsy was, and its nature, since after a pause he added, with a significant smile-- "But to tell the truth, monsieur, though I cannot talk Rommany, I know another secret language.

I can speak _Argot_ fluently." Now, I retain in my memory, from reading the Memoirs of Vidocq thirty years ago, one or two phrases of this French thieves' slang, and I at once replied that I knew a few words of it myself, adding-- "_Tu sais jaspiner en bigorne_ ?"--you can talk argot?
"_Oui, monsieur_." "_Et tu vas roulant de vergne en vergne_ ?"--and you go about from town to town?
Grave and keen, and with a queer smile, the tinker replied, very slowly-- "Monsieur knows the Gipsies" (here he shook his head), "and monsieur speaks _argot_ very well." (A shrug.) "Perhaps he knows more than he credits himself with.

Perhaps" (and here his wink was diabolical)-- "_perhaps monsieur knows the entire tongue_!" Spa is full not only of gamblers, but of numbers of well-dressed Parisian sharpers who certainly know "the entire tongue." I hastened to pay my tinker, and went my way homewards.

Ross Browne was accused in Syria of having "burgled" onions, and the pursuit of philology has twice subjected me to be suspected by tinkers as a flourishing member of the "dangerous classes." But to return to my rat-catcher.