“Run away, disappeared!”
“Who?”
“Master Jacques!”
The surprise was so great, that M. Folgat nearly let his razor drop: he said, however, peremptorily,—
“That is false!”
“Alas, sir,” replied the old servant, “everybody is full of it in town. All the details are known. I have just seen a man who says he met master last night, about eleven o’clock, running like a madman down National Street.”
“That is absurd.”
“I have only told Miss Dionysia so far, and she sent me to you. You ought to go and make inquiry.”
The advice was not needed. Wiping his face hastily, the young advocate went to dress at once. He was ready in a moment; and, having run down the stairs, he was crossing the passage when he heard somebody call his name. He turned round, and saw Dionysia making him a sign to come into the boudoir in which she was usually sitting. He did so.
Dionysia and the young advocate alone knew what a desperate venture Jacques had undertaken the night before. They had not said a word about it to each other; but each had noticed the preoccupation of the other. All the evening M. Folgat had not spoken ten words, and Dionysia had, immediately after dinner, gone up to her own room.