“And what do you know of him?”
“Nothing, my lord, except that he is tormented with remorse.”
“What makes you think so?”
“On the twenty-eighth of every month he makes me say a mass for the repose of the soul of one who died a violent death; yesterday I said this mass again.”
“And his name?”
“Maillard; but I do not think it is his right one.”
“And think you that we should find him at this hour at his post?”
“Certainly.”
“Let us go and see your beggar, sir, and if he is such as you describe him, you are right—it will be you who have discovered the true treasure.”
Gondy dressed himself as an officer, put on a felt cap with a red feather, hung on a long sword, buckled spurs to his boots, wrapped himself in an ample cloak and followed the curate.