"I wass, monsieur," admitted Pelletan, with a sigh. "I wass just from t'e province—my head wass full of treams. Unt she wass petter-looking, t'en, monsieur; she wass almost slim. She wass a widow—unt besides she had a leetle pâtisserie which her man had left her."
"I see—avarice was your undoing. And you caught a tartar!"
"A teufel!" repeated Pelletan. "A fiend! Oh, what an end to t'e tream! I worked—oh, how hard I worked—sweating at t'e ovens, efery hour of t'e twenty-four—for t'e ovens must not pe allowed to cool. She sat at t'e money-drawer unt grows fat; I wass soon so weak t'at she tid not hesitate to—to—"
The little man's face was bathed in sweat at the memory of that degradation, which his tongue refused to describe.
"I endured eet to t'e last moment," he added, thickly. "T'en I fled!"
"You seem to have alighted on your feet," remarked Rushford.
"We had made a success of t'e pusiness," Pelletan explained, "unt I brought mit me my share of t'e profits, which seemed only fair, since I, py my labour, had earned t'em. Unt t'en I took a lease of t'is place, unt did well until t'is year. T'at iss my whole history, monsieur. T'at iss why I dare not return to Paris, efen for a small visit in winter when pusiness here iss pad. Eef she so much as caught one leetle glimpse of me, she would murder me!" and he mopped his face again.
"Still," said the American, "I don't see where Tellier comes in."
Pelletan carefully replaced the photograph under the statuette and then reseated himself opposite his companion.
"Tellier knows her," he explained, simply.