“Thunder!” cried he, raising his clenched fists towards the ceiling,—“heaven’s thunder! I have it!”
His movement was so violent and sudden that the housekeeper was a little alarmed, and retired to the further end of the dining-room, near the door.
“Yes,” continued he, “it is certain there is a child!”
Manette approached him quickly. “A child?” she asked in astonishment.
“What next!” cried he in a furious tone. “What are you doing there? Has your hardihood come to this that you pick up the words which escape me? Do me the pleasure to retire to your kitchen, and stay there until I call you.”
“He is going crazy!” thought Manette, as she disappeared very quickly.
Old Tabaret resumed his seat. He hastily swallowed his soup which was completely cold. “Why,” said he to himself, “did I not think of it before? Poor humanity! I am growing old, and my brain is worn out. For it is clear as day; the circumstances all point to that conclusion.”
He rang the bell placed on the table beside him; the servant reappeared.
“Bring the roast,” he said, “and leave me to myself.”
“Yes,” continued he furiously carving a leg of Presale mutton—“Yes, there is a child, and here is his history! The Widow Lerouge, when a young woman, is in the service of a great lady, immensely rich. Her husband, a sailor, probably had departed on a long voyage. The lady had a lover—found herself enciente. She confided in the Widow Lerouge, and, with her assistance, accomplished a clandestine accouchement.”