Then, without any preparation, he related in the most natural way possible, his existence previous to his present one.
“My head is worth 20,000 pounds,” said he, “and you know it very well.” And as he pronounced these words he struck the table such a blow that Signor Petito recoiled instinctively.
“Here is the history of it all. I was walking, two hundred years ago, in the Rue de Vauregard, with my hands in my pocket, without arms, without even a sword, with the most honest intentions in the world, when a man met me. He bowed almost to the ground, and told me that my face reminded him so much of some one he knew. He was called ‘Old Man Bidel,’ or ‘Bidel the Good-natured,’ and he said that he had a secret to confide to me.
I encouraged him by a friendly tap on the shoulder, and he confided his secret to me. He whispered in my ear that the Regent had promised twenty thousand pounds to whoever would arrest the Enfant, and he knew where the Enfant was hiding. That I looked to him like a man of courage, and that he, with my aid, would do anything to get the 20,000 pounds. He said that he would divide the reward.
“The old man Bidel was on the wrong track, Signor Petito, for I also knew where to find L’Enfant, seeing that I was that person.”
Signor Petito did not wish to believe any of this, as he could see for himself that M. Longuet had been out of infancy a good many years. However, he dared not say anything. Théophraste continued, “I replied to the old man Bidel, that it was a happy chance and that I thanked Heaven for putting him in my path, and I made him conduct me to the place where he could find the Enfaut. He said to me, ‘To-night, the Enfant sleeps at the Capucine, in the Tavern Suite, which bears as a sign the Cross of the St. Hester.’
“It was true, Signor Petito, the old man Bidel was very well informed. I congratulated him, and we passed just then a cutlery shop, and I bought a small knife, much to the astonishment of Bidel, who asked me what I planned to do with such a weapon. I replied to him that with a small knife like this one could kill a fly, and I plunged it into his heart. He sank down, raised his arms wildly for a few moments, and died.”
Signor Petito, who at first had moved away from Théophraste, now rose and ran to the door, and was glad to get out of sight.
M. Longuet drank his wine, got up and went to the Bousset Brewery, where Mme. Barth was standing, making up her books. He said to her, “Mme. Taconet———-”
Mme. Barth demanded why he called her Mine. Taconet, but he disregarded her question, and continued, “If Signor Petito comes here again, you will tell him for me that the first time I find him in my way, I will cut his ears off.” Saying this, Théophraste fondled the handle of his umbrella as one grasps the handle of a dagger.