"Nothing," replied Augereau, raising himself upon the tips of his toes. "Nothing, except that they are fastening him under the knife—doing to him just what he did yesterday to the mayor and the deputy at Eschau; each one in his turn. Fortunate are those, my good friend, who come from that place with their heads on their shoulders."
"Terrible! terrible!" murmured Charles.
"Terrible, yes; but we see that or worse every day. Say good-by to your worthy professor; you will probably never see him again, as they are going to send him to Paris as soon as they take him down from that platform, and I don't envy him his promotion. And now let us go and get some supper. You must be starved, my poor boy!"
"I never thought of that," said Charles; "but now that you remind me of it, I remember that it is a far cry from breakfast."
"All the more reason to return to the Hôtel de la Lanterne as soon as possible."
"Come on, then."
Charles glanced at the square a last time.
"Farewell! poor friend of my father," he said. "When he sent me to you he believed that you were still the good and learned monk whom he had known. He did not know that you had become the bloody tyrant that I have found you, and that the spirit of the Lord had departed from you. Quos vult perdere Jupiter dementat. Come."
This time it was the boy who hurried Pierre Augereau toward the Hôtel de la Lanterne.
Two persons were anxiously awaiting Charles's return; Madame Teutch and Eugene.