“Louchard, you shall gife ein hundert francs to Contenson out of the change of the tousand-franc note.”
“De lady is a beauty,” said the cashier to the Baron, as they left the Rue Taitbout, “but she is costing you ver’ dear, Monsieur le Baron.”
“Keep my segret,” said the Baron, who had said the same to Contenson and Louchard.
Louchard went away with Contenson; but on the boulevard Asie, who was looking out for him, stopped Louchard.
“The bailiff and the creditor are there in a cab,” said she. “They are thirsty, and there is money going.”
While Louchard counted out the cash, Contenson studied the customers. He recognized Carlos by his eyes, and traced the form of his forehead under the wig. The wig he shrewdly regarded as suspicious; he took the number of the cab while seeming quite indifferent to what was going on; Asie and Europe puzzled him beyond measure. He thought that the Baron was the victim of excessively clever sharpers, all the more so because Louchard, when securing his services, had been singularly close. And besides, the twist of Europe’s foot had not struck his shin only.
“A trick like that is learned at Saint-Lazare,” he had reflected as he got up.
Carlos dismissed the bailiff, paying him liberally, and as he did so, said to the driver of the cab, “To the Perron, Palais Royal.”
“The rascal!” thought Contenson as he heard the order. “There is something up!” Carlos drove to the Palais Royal at a pace which precluded all fear of pursuit. He made his way in his own fashion through the arcades, took another cab on the Place du Chateau d’Eau, and bid the man go “to the Passage de l’Opera, the end of the Rue Pinon.”
A quarter of a hour later he was in the Rue Taitbout. On seeing him, Esther said: