“And you say, mademoiselle, that Monsieur de Rochefort, returning from the chase of those ruffians, one of whom he killed, by the way, found Monsieur Camus offering you an insult and struck him to the ground. Did Monsieur Camus not resent that action?”
“Monsieur, he did nothing, but he turned when he was going away and shook his finger at Monsieur de Rochefort.”
“Well, Mademoiselle Javotte, one question more: on whose service were you carrying that letter of which the robbers wished to relieve you? Speak without fear, whatever you say will do Monsieur de Rochefort no harm.”
“Monsieur, it was a letter addressed to Madame Dubarry.”
“Ah ha! That is all I wish to know. Well, say nothing of all this to anyone else, and should you have anything more to communicate to me, come to my private address, No. 10, Rue Picpus; ask for Monsieur Lavenne. That is my name. And remember this, as far as it is in my power, I am the friend of Monsieur de Rochefort.”
“Thank you, monsieur—and may I ask one question? Do you know where Monsieur de Rochefort is now, and is he safe?”
“I cannot tell you where he is, but I believe he is safe. In fact, I may be as frank with you as you have been with me, and say he is safe.”
“Thank you, monsieur.”
“One moment,” said Lavenne, as she rose to go. “May I ask your address, should I by any possibility need it?”
“I am in the service of Mademoiselle Fontrailles, monsieur.”