At the end of the street Josephine was waiting for him in a cab.
“Drive to Saint Lazare station, main line departure platform,” he said to the cabman.
He jumped into the cab, quivering with delight, and said in the accents of a conqueror: “Here you are, darling—the seven indispensable names. Here’s the list of them. Take it.”
“And now?” she said.
“Well, there they are—the second victory in one day and what a victory! Goodness how easy it is to get the better of people! A little audacity, a clear head, careful reasoning, and a firm resolve to go as straight as an arrow to your goal, and obstacles clear out of your way of themselves. Beaumagnan is a smart chap, isn’t he? Well, he crumpled up just as you did, my pretty Josine. Your pupil does you honor, doesn’t he? Two first-class masters, Beaumagnan and Cagliostro’s daughter smashed and pulverized in one day by a collegian! What do you think of that, Josine?”
He paused in his pæan to say: “You’re not angry with me for rubbing it in like this?”
“No, no,” she said, smiling at him.
“And you’re not angry about that little business at Bridget Rousselin’s?”
“Don’t you ask too much of me,” she warned him. “It’s better not to wound my pride. I’ve plenty of it and I’m vindictive. But after all one can’t go on being angry with you for long. There’s something peculiar about you which disarms one.”
“Beaumagnan isn’t disarmed, I’ll be hanged if he is,” he said thoughtfully.