"And you swear to me that you bear me no ill-will for the events of the last twelve hours?"
"Swear it? Of course I swear it. Why, I have no ill-will against you nor anybody."
"And you are certain that he (the man, I mean) is not dead?"
"I am as sure of it as that I am living myself."
"That will at least give me one crime the less to answer for. If they only knew—And that little old man of the Rue du Roule—and that woman of the Canal St. Martin—But it is useless thinking of all those things now; I have enough to occupy my thoughts without trying to recall past misfortunes. Blind! blind!" repeated the miserable wretch, as, leaning on the arm of the Chourineur, he slowly took his departure from the house in the Allée des Veuves.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE ISLE-ADAM.
A month has elapsed since the occurrence of the events we have just narrated. We now conduct the reader into the little town of the Isle-Adam, situated in a delightful locality on the banks of the Oise, and at the foot of a forest.