“Oh! indeed! Well, you are welcome! I didn’t recognize your voice—will you come in?”
They entered the room, and Lecoq lit a candle. Then the young man could see his colleague, and, good heavens! he found him in a most pitiable condition.
He was as dirty and as bespattered with mud as a lost dog that has been wandering about in the rain and the mire for a week at the very least. His overcoat bore the traces of frequent contact with damp walls; his hat had lost its form entirely. His eyes wore an anxious look, and his mustache drooped despondently. He spoke, moreover, so strangely that one might have supposed his mouth was full of sand.
“Do you bring me bad news?” inquired Lecoq, after a short examination of his companion.
“Yes, bad.”
“The people you were following escaped you, then?”
The old man nodded his head affirmatively.
“It is unfortunate—very unfortunate!” said Lecoq. “But it is useless to distress ourselves about it. Don’t be so cast down, Father Absinthe. To-morrow, between us, we will repair the damage.”
This friendly encouragement only increased the old man’s evident embarrassment. He blushed, this veteran, as if he had been a schoolgirl, and raising his hands toward heaven, he exclaimed: “Ah, you wretch! didn’t I tell you so?”
“Why! what is the matter with you?” inquired Lecoq.