The man was really a miserable wretch, one of Fouche’s vilest instruments, who had served and betrayed all parties, and who, at last, had been convicted of perjury, but had somehow managed to escape punishment.
After his dismissal from the police-force, Chelteux founded a bureau of private information.
After several inquiries, Mme. Blanche discovered that he lived in the Place Dauphine; and she determined to take advantage of her husband’s absence to pay the detective a visit.
One morning she donned her simplest dress, and, accompanied by Aunt Medea, repaired to the house of Chelteux.
He was then, about thirty-four years of age, a man of medium height, of inoffensive mien, and who affected an unvarying good-humor.
He invited his clients into a nicely furnished drawing-room, and Mme. Blanche at once began telling him that she was married, and living in the Rue Saint-Denis, that one of her sisters, who had lately died, had been guilty of an indiscretion, and that she was ready to make any sacrifice to find this sister’s child, etc., etc. A long story, which she had prepared in advance, and which sounded very plausible.
Chelteux did not believe a word of it, however; for, as soon as it was ended, he tapped her familiarly on the shoulder, and said:
“In short, my dear, we have had our little escapades before our marriage.”
She shrank back as if from some venomous reptile.
To be treated thus! she—a Courtornieu—Duchesse de Sairmeuse!