He was there, in that house--Poulet.
She felt her knees and hands trembling; but at last she entered the
door, and walking along a passage, saw the janitor's quarters. She
said, as she held out a piece of money: "Would you go up and tell M.
Paul de Lamare that an old lady, a friend of his mother's, is
downstairs, and wishes to see him?"
"He does not live here any longer, madame," replied the janitor.
A shudder went over her. She faltered:
"Oh! Where--where is he living now?"
"I do not know."
She grew dizzy as though she were about to fall over, and stood there
for some moments without being able to speak. At length, with a great
effort, she collected her senses and murmured:
"How long is it since he left?"
"About two weeks ago. They went off like that, one evening, and never
came back. They were in debt everywhere in the neighborhood, so you
can understand that they did not care to leave their address."
Jeanne saw lights before her eyes, flashes of flame, as though a gun
had been fired off in front of her eyes. But she had one fixed idea in
her mind, and that sustained her, and kept her outwardly calm and
rational. She wished to find Poulet and know all about him.