Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 29, 2025
M. Bourigeau, the concierge, and M. Casimir exchanged a significant smile. They had seen the count searching for the remnants of this letter, and had thought him little better than an idiot. But now everything was explained.
The magistrate had learnt the story of the key from Bourigeau, but all the same he asked: "Where is the key to this escritoire?" "Alas! monsieur," replied Mademoiselle Marguerite, "I broke it last night when M. de Chalusse was brought home unconscious. I hoped to avert what has, nevertheless, happened.
When she returned to the mansion her mind was made up, and she had regained her usual composure. For ten minutes or so she had been praying by the count's bedside, when M. Bourigeau, the concierge, appeared and handed her a letter which had just been brought to the house. It was addressed to "Mademoiselle Marguerite de Durtal de Chalusse, at the Hotel de Chalusse, Rue de Courcelles."
She was ignorant of his conversation with Bourigeau on the road, and did not know that through the concierge's ridiculous statements and accusations, the magistrate had succeeded in discovering at least a portion of the truth. "I shall have the honor of asking for a few moments' conversation with you presently, mademoiselle," he said. "But first, one question.
His clerk had already drawn a pen and some paper from his portfolio, and was engaged in reading the decision, rendered by the magistrate at the request of one Bourigeau, and in virtue of which, seals were about to be affixed to the deceased nobleman's personal effects.
Leaving his comrades to watch the magistrate's operations, he sent M. Bourigeau to report the count's death at the district mayor's office, and then lighting a cigar he walked out of the house, and strolled leisurely up the Rue de Courcelles. The place appointed for his meeting with M. Fortunat was on the Boulevard Haussmann, almost opposite Binder's, the famous carriage builder.
"Ah!" said the magistrate, who already knew as much about the Hotel de Chalusse, and the events of the past twelve hours, as M. Casimir himself; for on his way to the house, he had turned Bourigeau inside out like a glove, by means of a dozen gentle questions. "If monsieur wishes I will explain," resumed M. Casimir. "Nothing! It is quite unnecessary. Usher us in."
From where she stood, she could not see the bed stationed in an alcove; but she instantly noted the dejected attitude of the servants, the clothing scattered about the floor, and the disorder that pervaded this magnificent but severely furnished chamber, which was only lighted by the lamp which M. Bourigeau, the concierge, carried.
He could let them absent themselves without leave, if he chose, and conceal all returns late at night after the closing of public balls and wine-shops. Thus, it is needless to say that M. Bourigeau and his wife were treated by their fellow-servants with the most servile adulation.
And calling M. Casimir and Bourigeau, the concierge, she ordered them to take a lantern and explore the garden carefully. They obeyed, though with rather bad grace, not being particularly courageous, either of them, and, of course, they found nothing. "No matter," said Madame Leon, "I feel safe now." And she did indeed feel more tranquil in mind. "I had a lucky escape!" she said to herself.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking