M. Plantat's confidence was indeed very great; but the more he reflected, the more perilous and difficult seemed the attempt to save Tremorel from a trial. The most poignant doubts troubled and tortured his mind. His own life was at stake; for he had sworn to himself that he would not survive the ruin of Laurence in being forced to confess in full court her dishonor and her love for Hector.
M. Lecoq tried hard to make his companion eat something, to take at least some soup and a glass of old Bordeaux; but he soon saw the uselessness of his efforts and went on with his dinner as if he were alone. He was very thoughtful, but any uncertainty of the result of his plans never entered his head. He drank much and often, and soon emptied his bottle of Leoville. Night having now come on the waiters began to light the chandeliers, and the two friends found themselves almost alone.
"Isn't it time to begin?" asked the old justice, timidly.
"We have still nearly an hour," replied M. Lecoq, consulting his watch; "but I shall make my preparations now."
He called a waiter, and ordered a cup of coffee and writing materials.
"You see," said he, while they were waiting to be served, "we must try to get at Laurence without Tremorel's knowing it. We must have a ten minutes' talk with her alone, and in the house. That is a condition absolutely necessary to our success."
M. Plantat had evidently been expecting some immediate and decisive action, for M. Lecoq's remark filled him with alarm.
"If that's so," said he mournfully, "it's all over with our project."
"How so?"
"Because Tremorel will not leave Laurence by herself for a moment."