“That is to say, a man belonging to the lowest class of society: consequently, a fellow without education.”
“Certainly.”
Lecoq spoke with his eyes fixed upon those of his companion. He distrusted his own powers, as is usual with persons of real merit, but he felt that if he could succeed in making his convictions penetrate his comrade’s obtuse mind, their exactitude would be virtually proved.
“And now,” he continued, “what would you say if I showed you that this young man had received an excellent, even refined, education?”
“I should reply that it was very extraordinary. I should reply that—but what a fool I am! You have not proved it to me yet.”
“But I can do so very easily. Do you remember the words that he uttered as he fell?”
“Yes, I remember them perfectly. He said: ‘It is the Prussians who are coming.’”
“What do you suppose he meant by that?”
“What a question! I should suppose that he did not like the Prussians, and that he supposed he was offering us a terrible insult.”
Lecoq was waiting anxiously for this response. “Ah, well; Father Absinthe,” he said gravely, “you are wrong, quite wrong. And that this man has an education superior to his apparent position is proved by the fact that you did not understand his meaning, nor his intention. It was this single phrase that enlightened me.”