“She asked me what I meant. I told her, and I told her that M. de Rochefort had smacked Comte Camus’ face.
“Her face fired up so that I knew the truth at once. She is in love with him, monsieur, and I was so furious at the false charge she had made about me that I lost all discretion. I said, ‘It is easy to see your feelings for that man; as for me, though I am only a poor girl, I would choose for a lover, if not a gentleman, at least not a cur-dog who snaps at women’s dresses and who runs away when kicked by a man.’”
“And what did she say to that?”
“She boxed my ears, monsieur. She is infatuated. Ah, monsieur, what is it that she can see in a man so horrible to look at, so evil, and so cruel; for he is cruel, and I swear to you the sight of him makes me shudder, and would make me shudder even if I had not personally experienced his baseness.”
“I do not know,” replied Lavenne; “nor can I possibly say why this man should affect two persons so differently. He is, as you say, a terrible man, and your innocence, or what is kindly in your nature, is revolted by him; as for your late mistress, why, we must suppose there is something in her nature that is attracted by him. But she is treading on dangerous ground, for should Madame Camus die and should she marry him, she would find herself under the thumb of a very strange master. Now, listen to me, Mademoiselle Javotte. I have still in my pocket that letter which you gave me, and I hope to make it useful to M. de Rochefort. What is the number of the house in the Rue Jussac which will be your new abode?”
“No. 3, monsieur.”
“Well, it is important for me to know your address as I may want you. I may even want you to-night, so be at home.”
“I will, monsieur—and M. de Rochefort?”
Lavenne smiled.
“Set your mind at rest. He is in danger, very great danger, but I hope to save him.”