He lit a cigar, and, telling the servant not to sit up for him, went out.
He knew that Raoul, if it was Raoul, would be prowling near the house, waiting for him.
His suspicions were well founded.
He had barely proceeded thirty yards, when a man suddenly sprang from behind a tree, and stood before him.
The night was clear, and Louis recognized Raoul.
“What is the matter?” he impatiently demanded; “what has happened?”
“Nothing.”
“What! Do you mean to say that nothing has gone wrong in Paris—that no one is on our track?”
“Not the slightest danger of any sort. And moreover, but for your inordinate greed of gain, everything would have succeeded admirably; all was going on well when I left Paris.”
“Then why have you come here?” cried Louis fiercely. “Who gave you permission to desert your post, when your absence might bring ruin upon us? What brought you here?”