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While you were pining in prison, I was preparing my batteries and collecting munition to open fire. I wrote to St. Remy, and received answers to my questions." "Will you let me know what they were?" "Have patience," said M. Verduret as he turned over the leaves of his memoranda. "Ah, here is number one. Bow respectfully to it, 'tis official."
The delighted Joseph disappeared in a twinkling; while Prosper and M. Verduret remained at the window observing Clameran, who, according to the movements of the crowd, was sometimes lost to sight, and sometimes just in front of the window, but was evidently determined not to quit his post until he had obtained the information he sought.
M. Verduret curiously watched these two enemies, with the indifference and coolness of a philosopher, who, in the most violent outbursts of human passion, merely sees subjects for meditation and study. Finally, the silence becoming more and more threatening, he decided to break it by speaking to the banker: "I suppose you know, monsieur, that my young relative has just been released from prison."
He did not sit down at M. Verduret's table, but stealthily gave his hand to Prosper, and, after assuring himself that no one was observing them, handed M. Verduret a package, saying: "She found this in a cupboard." It was a handsomely bound prayer-book. M. Verduret rapidly turned over the leaves, and soon found the pages from which the words pasted on Prosper's letter had been cut.
Although it was more than an hour since M. Verduret and Prosper left the hack at the branch road, they found it waiting for them in front of the tavern. The driver could not resist the desire to change his five-franc piece; he had ordered dinner, and, finding his wine very good, was calling for more, when he looked up and saw his employers. "Well, you are in a strange state!" he exclaimed.
He remained shut up in the Archangel, not even appearing at the windows. Twice he had news of M. Verduret. The first time he received a letter in which this friend said he had seen his father, and had had a long talk with him. Afterward, Dubois, M. de Clameran's valet, came to tell him that his "patron" reported everything as progressing finely.
"What next?" inquired M. Fauvel. "The next step was this," replied M. Verduret. "Clameran, finding that the child was dead, supposed that he could, in spite of this disappointment, obtain money from Mme. Fauvel; he was mistaken. His first attempt failed. Having an inventive turn of mind, he determined that the child should come to life.
He scarcely noticed her salutation, but questioned her with a look. His look said: "Well?" She bowed affirmatively: "Yes." "In there?" asked M. Verduret in a low tone, pointing to one of the doors. "No," said the woman in the same tone, "over there, in the little parlor."
Nothing is neglected or forgotten, when stern Retribution asserts her sway. Listen." And he forthwith related all that he had discovered, referring, as he went along, to a voluminous manuscript which he had prepared, with many notes and authenticated proofs attached. During the last week M. Verduret had not had twenty-four hours' rest, but he bore no traces of fatigue.
The second time, the judge of instruction had mentioned it in connection with Gypsy's history. Prosper thought over all the men he had ever been connected with, but could recall none named Caldas. The impassable M. Verduret started and trembled at the mention of this name, but, quickly recovering himself, said: "I promised to find him for you, and I will keep my promise.
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