As Rénine was paying for the refreshments, the young man with the long moustache stifled a cry and, in a choking voice, called one of the waiters:
"What do I owe you?... No change? Oh, good Lord, hurry up!"
Rénine, without a moment's hesitation, had picked up the paper. After casting a swift glance down the page, he read, under his breath:
"Maître Dourdens, the counsel for the defence in the trial of Jacques
Aubrieux, has been received at the Élysée. We are informed that the
President of the Republic has refused to reprieve the condemned man
and that the execution will take place to-morrow morning."
After crossing the terrace, the young man found himself faced, at the entrance to the garden, by a lady and gentleman who blocked his way; and the latter said:
"Excuse me, sir, but I noticed your agitation. It's about Jacques Aubrieux, isn't it?"
"Yes, yes, Jacques Aubrieux," the young man stammered. "Jacques, the friend of my childhood. I'm hurrying to see his wife. She must be beside herself with grief."
"Can I offer you my assistance? I am Prince Rénine. This lady and I would be happy to call on Madame Aubrieux and to place our services at her disposal."
The young man, upset by the news which he had read, seemed not to understand. He introduced himself awkwardly:
"My name is Dutreuil, Gaston Dutreuil."