“The poor woman ruined herself for the good-for-nothing!—Wait a minute, I know her name—Madame Dou—Dol———”
“No matter! no matter!” said Dufresne, abruptly interrupting Véronique, “I don’t need to know her name.”
“That’s so, that don’t make any difference about the business. However, this lady was mad over her lover, who didn’t care anything for her and robbed her all he could. It seems that they had a row toward the end, and that the monster must have poisoned her to revenge himself because she proposed to tell about all his goings-on.”
“That is very probable.”
“Ah! men are vile dogs nowadays. They kill a woman as quick as a fly!”
“What does your Suzanne intend to do?”
“Oh! she has already told the police all this, so that they can get track of the criminal, who is now I don’t know where.”
“That is very wise, and I hope they will discover the truth.”
Dufresne said these last words in an undertone. Despite the assurance which he affected, the discomposure of his features betrayed the sensations that agitated him.
The evening came to an end earlier than usual. Edouard was anxious, and Dufresne also seemed greatly excited. They sent the two young women away. Lampin, who alone had retained his good spirits, poured out bumper after bumper for his friends, making fun of their gloom. Edouard drank to forget himself, but Dufresne was not inclined to bear them company, and Lampin got tipsy alone, trying in vain to make his companions laugh.