As soon as he had bolted the door, coming straight to Maxence,
“What has become of your father?” inquired M. Saint Pavin rudely.
Maxence started. That was the last question he expected to hear.
“I do not know,” he replied.
The manager of “The Pilot” shrugged his shoulders. “That you should say so to the commissary of police, to the judges, and to all Favoral’s enemies, I understand: it is your duty. That they should believe you, I understand too; for, after all, what do they care? But to me, a friend, though you may not think so, and who has reasons not to be credulous——”
“I swear to you that we have no idea where he has taken refuge.”
Maxence said this with such an accent of sincerity, that doubt was no longer possible. M. Saint Pavin’s features expressed the utmost surprise.
“What!” he exclaimed, “your father has gone without securing the means of hearing from his family?”
“Yes.”
“Without saying a word of his intentions to your mother, or your sister, or yourself?”