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"I left her," was M. d'Anquetil's answer, "breathing into the mouth of her financier, to revive him. But she had better save her breath. I know La Gueritude. He is pitiless. He'll send her to the spittel, perhaps to America. I am sorry for her. She was a fine girl. I did not love her, but she was mad after me. And, an extraordinary state of things, I am now without a mistress."
"But this second consolation has been much shaken by the constables calling this very morning at the cookshop to take you into custody, and carry you to the Bicetre Prison, to break stones for a year or two. It was Catherine who denounced you to M. de la Gueritude, but you must not blame her for it; she did her duty as a Christian by confessing the truth.
"They are the outcome," she replied, "of the kindness of M. de la Gueritude, who is of the best set and one of the richest financiers. He has lent money to the king. He is an excellent friend whom, for all the world, I should not wish to offend. But he is not as amiable as you, M. Jacques. He has also given me a little house at Grenelle, which I will show you from the cellar to the garret.
"I want to inform you, gentlemen," said my dear tutor, "that of the three bottles I took care to carry with me, one was broken on the head of M. de la Gueritude, another one was smashed in my pocket during my flight. They are both regretted. The third, against all hope, has been preserved. Here it is!" Pulling it out of his pocket, he placed it on the edge of the fountain.
I shall feel myself obliged, very soon, to earn profits of some kind to show that my sagacity has not failed me during my prosperity. I am in search of the means to reach such an issue; my mind is occupied by it, Tournebroche." And as my dear tutor spoke with a noble distinction of that matter, we came near the pretty dwelling wherein M. de la Gueritude had lodged Mademoiselle Catherine.
In a tone which really pained me he said: "Alas! Monsieur Jacques, the hour of trial has come to Babylon, as it is said in the prophets. At the request of M. de la Gueritude, the Lieutenant of Police had Mam'selle Catherine taken by the constables to the spittel, from whence she'll be sent to America by the next convoy.
If not, out with you, man of quantities! We'll remain." M. de la Gueritude had never in his life heard anything of this sort, and thought he had to deal with a madman, as one might easily suppose, and, more for defence than attack, he raised his big stick. My good tutor, out of his senses, threw a bottle at the head of the contractor, who fell headlong on the floor, howling, "He has killed me!"
In the faint glimmer of the torches, shiny from sweat, his eyes starting out of their sockets, his coat unbuttoned, and his big belly half out of his breeches, he looked a fellow not easy to be got rid of. The lackeys hesitated. "Out with him, out with him," shouted M. de la Gueritude; "out with this bag of wine!
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