“And then?” interrupted Adolphe, who had never taken his eyes off the document.
“And then I cut her up in pieces.”
“Oh, horrors!” cried Marceline.
“It is horrible,” continued Théophraste, shaking his head. “Then I put the pieces in a basket and threw them into the Seine by the little bridge of the Hotel Dieu. I awoke then, and you may be sure I was not sorry.”
Adolphe struck the table a hard blow with his fist. “It is frightful,” he cried in a harsh voice, looking at Théophraste.
“Is it not?” said Marceline, shuddering.
Adolphe read the first lines of the document.
“Oh, how dreadful it is!” he continued, groaning. “Alas, alas! I understand all, now.”
“What do you understand?” asked Théophraste in a frightened voice, following Adolphe’s finger as he traced the first two lines of the document.
“This,” said Adolphe. “‘Moi et! I buried my, treasures.’ And you do not know what that ‘et’ means? Well, I won’t tell you until I am quite sure. I will know to-morrow. Théophraste, tomorrow at two o’clock be at the Rue Guinegaud and the Rue Mazarin. I am going to take these articles to M. Milfroid’s house. He will restore them to their owners, and we will prove to him that there are pickpockets even when the Commissioner is present. Adieu, my friend, adieu. Above all take courage. Take courage.” Adolphe shook Théophraste’s hand with the warmth of a comrade, and departed.