Thus Baudoyer had a pair of henchmen in Dutocq and Godard. Monsieur Saillard, too innocent to judge rightly of Dutocq, was in the habit of paying him frequent little visits at the office. Young La Billardiere, the director’s son, placed as supernumerary with Baudoyer, made another member of the clique. The clever heads in the offices laughed much at this alliance of incapables. Bixiou named Baudoyer, Godard, and Dutocq a “Trinity without the Spirit,” and little La Billardiere the “Pascal Lamb.”
“You are early this morning,” said Antoine to Dutocq, laughing.
“So are you, Antoine,” answered Dutocq; “you see, the newspapers do come earlier than you let us have them at the office.”
“They did to-day, by chance,” replied Antoine, not disconcerted; “they never come two days together at the same hour.”
The two nephews looked at each other as if to say, in admiration of their uncle, “What cheek he has!”
“Though I make two sous by all his breakfasts,” muttered Antoine, as he heard Monsieur Dutocq close the office door, “I’d give them up to get that man out of our division.”
“Ah, Monsieur Sebastien, you are not the first here to-day,” said Antoine, a quarter of an hour later, to the supernumerary.
“Who is here?” asked the poor lad, turning pale.
“Monsieur Dutocq,” answered Laurent.
Virgin natures have, beyond all others, the inexplicable gift of second-sight, the reason of which lies perhaps in the purity of their nervous systems, which are, as it were, brand-new. Sebastien had long guessed Dutocq’s hatred to his revered Rabourdin. So that when Laurent uttered his name a dreadful presentiment took possession of the lad’s mind, and crying out, “I feared it!” he flew like an arrow into the corridor.