Prout felt that he was getting on.
"Can you tell me the name of the paper?" he asked.
René Lalage confessed himself puzzled. Compatriots had shown him the paper, but he had forgotten. There was a headpiece to the paper with a woman on it blowing a trumpet. It seemed to be all actors and the like.
"It has gone from my mind," he said. "It is so long ago. Even then my brother and this woman had drifted apart. I am not happy in my mind today, for your news has disturbed me more than I can tell. Even a rascal like myself can be possessed of a heart, eh?"
"If I come again can you refresh your memory?"
"It is possible. It is not for me to say. Only poor Leon must be avenged!"
The speaker clutched Prout passionately by the arm. His whole frame was quivering with passion.
"The vengeance comes closer," said Prout; "it is closer than you imagine. And I fancy that your evidence will hang the murderer."