The man bowed and withdrew. D’Argenson picked up the bag of money which I had placed on the table before him, and after a glance at its contents, threw it into a drawer, which he locked.
“The wedding, you say, is to take place at nine o’clock?” he asked.
“Yes, Monsieur, at the Church of St. Landry.”
“Ah, well, we shall be there,” and d’Argenson smiled, “and I fancy we shall have a little surprise for M. Ribaut and M. Briquet. I do not think that Mère Fouchon, or Mme. Basarge, will ever trouble you again, Monsieur. Her hour has struck.”
CHAPTER XV
TO THE CHURCH OF ST. LANDRY
There was a tone in his voice that made me tremble. I realized that this man could be terrible, inexorable upon occasion. I had good cause to hate the woman, but, God knows, I pitied her now.
“Her hour has struck,” repeated d’Argenson. “She has lived fifteen years too long already. She has cheated the gallows, but the gallows will claim its own.”
I questioned him with my eyes.
“She called it a mistake, you told me—that was a gentle name for it. I remember it very well, for this mistake was one of the most horrible of the first year of my administration. The police was not organized then as it is now, or she would not have escaped us.”
“And what was this mistake, Monsieur?” I questioned.