“We are not alone!” said Jacques Collin to Monsieur de Granville.
“No,” said the magistrate drily.
“And this gentleman is one of my oldest acquaintances, I believe,” replied the convict.
He went forward, recognizing Corentin, the real and confessed originator of Lucien’s overthrow.
Jacques Collin, whose face was of a brick-red hue, for a scarcely perceptible moment turned white, almost ashy; all his blood rushed to his heart, so furious and maddening was his longing to spring on this dangerous reptile and crush it; but he controlled the brutal impulse, suppressing it with the force that made him so formidable. He put on a polite manner and the tone of obsequious civility which he had practised since assuming the garb of a priest of a superior Order, and he bowed to the little old man.
“Monsieur Corentin,” said he, “do I owe the pleasure of this meeting to chance, or am I so happy as to be the cause of your visit here?”
Monsieur de Granville’s astonishment was at its height, and he could not help staring at the two men who had thus come face to face. Jacques Collin’s behavior and the tone in which he spoke denoted a crisis, and he was curious to know the meaning of it. On being thus suddenly and miraculously recognized, Corentin drew himself up like a snake when you tread on its tail.
“Yes, it is I, my dear Abbe Carlos Herrera.”
“And are you here,” said Trompe-la-Mort, “to interfere between monsieur the public prosecutor and me? Am I so happy as to be the object of one of those negotiations in which your talents shine so brightly?—Here, Monsieur le Comte,” the convict went on, “not to waste time so precious as yours is, read these—they are samples of my wares.”
And he held out to Monsieur de Granville three letters, which he took out of his breast-pocket.