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I will throw a stone into the water," said Fanferlot, rubbing his hands with delight at his own brilliant idea. "As soon as Clameran has seen you," continued M. Verduret, "he will be alarmed, and instantly decamp. Knowing there are reasons why the police should be after him, he will hasten to escape you; then comes the time for you to keep wide awake; he is a slippery eel, and cunning as a rat."
When Fanferlot entered the room, Prosper uttered a cry of surprise and almost fright. He recognized the man who had assisted the commissary of police to examine the bank on the day of the robbery. M. Verduret examined his aide with a satisfied look, and said: "Not bad! There is enough of the police-court air about you to alarm even an honest man. You understood me perfectly this time."
"Ah, ha," he said with a little laugh of satisfaction. "I knew it. Father Taberet would be pleased to see this. But what has become of the mutilated prayer-book? Can it have been burned? No, because a heavy-bound book is not easily burned. It is thrown in some corner." M. Verduret was interrupted by the porter, who returned with the messenger from the Rue Pigalle.
"And arms would be of no use," continued M. Verduret: "it is fortunate you have none with you, for it would be very foolish to shoot a man whom you can send to the galleys." "What must I do?" "Wait. Vengeance is a delicious fruit, that must ripen in order that we may fully enjoy it." Prosper was unsettled in his resolution; M. Verduret seeing this brought forth his last and strongest argument.
She hurried into the bank, and sent the clerk with a message, telling him to leave it with Mme. Alexandre, if M. Verduret had left the hotel. An hour later, Mme. Fauvel ordered her carriage, and went out. M. Fauvel jumped into a hackney-coach, and followed her. "God grant that M. Verduret may reach there in time!" cried Nina to herself, "otherwise Mme. Fauvel and Raoul are lost."
Can it be a compromising correspondence which the fair one wants to secure?" Madeleine took the papers, but was apparently still dissatisfied. She again entreated him to give her something else. Raoul refused; and then she threw the papers on the table. The papers seemed to puzzle M. Verduret very much, as he gazed at them through the window.
"They are evidently quarrelling," he thought; "but it is not a lovers' quarrel." Madeleine continued talking; and it was by closely watching the face of Lagors, clearly revealed by the lamp on the mantel, that M. Verduret hoped to discover the meaning of the scene before him.
This proposal seemed to stir up all of Prosper's anger. "Never!" he exclaimed with excitement, "no, never will I voluntarily set eyes on that wretch!" This resistance did not surprise M. Verduret. "I can understand your feelings toward him," said he, "but at the same time I hope you will change your mind.
Then, like you, I wished to die. Neither threats nor entreaties could induce her to return to me. Passion never reasons, and she loved my rival." "And did you know this rival?" "I knew him." "And you did not seek revenge?" "No," replied M. Verduret with a singular expression, "no: fate took charge of my vengeance." For a minute Prosper was silent; then he said: "I have finally decided, monsieur.
But he had scarcely looked in the lighted window when he uttered a cry which was drowned in the roaring tempest, and dropped like a log down on the wet grass, exclaiming: "The villain! the villain!" With wonderful promptness and vigor M. Verduret laid the ladder on the ground, and ran toward Prosper, fearing that he was dead or dangerously injured. "What did you see? Are you hurt?" he whispered.
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