“They came here to seize my grandfather’s manuscript; and as I think he gave you the book itself I want you to take the notes, for Madame Vauthier will not let me carry anything out of the house. Put them with the volumes and—”
“Yes, yes,” said Godefroid, “go and get them at once.”
While the lad went back to his own rooms, returning immediately, Godefroid reflected that the poor child was guilty of no crime, and that he ought not to put despair into that young heart by speaking of his grandfather and of the punishment for his savage political actions that had overtaken his old age. He therefore took the little package with a good grace.
“What is your mother’s name?” he asked.
“My mother is the Baronne de Mergi; my father was the son of the president of the Royal Court at Rouen.”
“Ah!” said Godefroid; “then your grandfather married his daughter to the son of the famous president Mergi.”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Now, my little friend, leave me,” said Godefroid. He went with young Mergi to the landing, and called to Madame Vauthier.
“Mere Vauthier,” he said, “you can let my rooms. I shall not come back any more.”
He gathered his things together, went downstairs, and got into the cab.