The commissary’s eyes were sparkling,
“That letter!” he exclaimed, “that letter!” And, as soon as he had looked over it,
“Ah! This time,” he resumed, “I think that we have something tangible. ‘A troublesome gentleman to keep quiet,’—the Marquis de Tregars, of course, who is on the right track. ‘It will be for you the matter of a sword-thrust.’ Naturally, dead men tell no tales. ‘It will be for us the occasion of dividing a round amount.’ An honest trade, indeed!”
The good man was rubbing his hand with all his might.
“At last we have a positive fact,” he went on,—“a foundation upon which to base our accusations. Don’t be uneasy. That letter is going to place into our hands the scoundrel who assaulted you,—who will make known the go-between, who himself will not fail to surrender the Baroness de Thaller. Lucienne shall be avenged. If we could only now lay our hands on Vincent Favoral! But we’ll find him yet. I set two fellows after him this afternoon, who have a superior scent, and understand their business.”
He was here interrupted by Maxence, who was returning all out of breath, holding in his hand the medicines which he had gone after.
“I thought that druggist would never get through,” he said.
And regretting to have remained away so long, feeling uneasy, and anxious to return up stairs,
“Don’t you wish to see Lucienne?” he added, addressing himself to M. de Tregars rather more than to the commissary.
For all answer, they followed him at once.