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Updated: June 3, 2025


So saying, she took a light and passed into an inner room, leaving Sallenauve in a state of mind we can readily imagine after the various shocks and surprises of this interview. On returning to his hotel he found Jacques Bricheteau awaiting him. "Where the devil have you been?" cried the organist, impatiently. "It is too late now to take the steamboat."

"Ah!" said Jacques Bricheteau, "vagabonds like you, who can present their sons with the necessary sums to buy estates, are not to be pitied. Still, the remark is a just one, not only as to France, but as to your residence in foreign countries. With your eternal mania for roving, it is really very difficult to assign you a domicile."

"Well, marquis," interrupted Jacques Bricheteau, who seemed to me inclined to manage the affair, "are you ready to proceed with our young friend to the verification of the documents?" "That is unnecessary," I remarked, and did not think that by this refusal I pledged my faith too much; for, after all, what signify papers in the hands of a man who might have forged them or stolen them?

Bricheteau, quoted by the same authority, speaks of a woman of twenty-four, having white skin and hair of deep black, who after a long illness occasioned by an affection analogous to marasmus became covered, especially on the back, breast, and abdomen, with a multitude of small elevations similar to those which appear on exposure to cold.

In short, do you not see in the mysterious ways of this Bricheteau something like an imitation, a reflection of the manoeuvres to which these criminal workers are forced to have recourse, arranging them with a talent and a richness of imagination to which a novelist can scarcely attain?

"Monsieur Jacques Bricheteau?" "Yes; Monsieur Jacques Bricheteau; he lives here I believe." "Fourth floor above the entresol, door to the left. He has just come in, and you can overtake him on the stairs." Rapidly as I ran up, my man had the key of his door already in the lock when I reached him. "Have I the honor of speaking to Monsieur Jacques Bricheteau?" I asked.

"Monsieur le Comte de Sallenauve," said Jacques Bricheteau, announcing me with the solemnity of an usher of ambassadors or a groom of the Chambers. But in the presence of the man to whom I owed my life the ice in me was instantly melted; I stepped forward with an eager impulse, feeling the tears rise to my eyes. He did not move.

So saying he rose, took a large pinch of snuff, and began to walk up and down the room, while Jacques Bricheteau continued: "It is a little more than a year since I received a letter from your father explaining his long silence, the plans he had made for you, and the necessity he was under of keeping his incognito for a few years longer.

The meaning of this discourteous answer was too plain for Jacques Bricheteau not to perceive it. He looked straight at the countess, who lowered her eyes; but the whole expression of her countenance, due north, confirmed the meaning he could no longer mistake in her words. "Pardon me, madame," he said, rising.

Madame de l'Estorade looked at her friend, as if to consult her. "He is that organist who was so useful to Monsieur de Sallenauve during the election. I don't know what he can want of me." "Never mind," said Madame de Camps, "receive him. Before beginning hostilities it is always well to know what is going on in the enemy's camp." "Show him in," said the countess. Jacques Bricheteau entered.

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