"To marry her?"
"Yes, monseigneur, to a young man whom the beautiful Blanche did not know, I am sure; for no one ever went near her except your humble servant. I bet that Touquet has sacrificed her, and that the poor little thing hates her future husband."
Here Chaudoreille said what he did not think, but he imagined it more prudent to present the matter in that aspect.
The marquis reflected for some moments, then he said,—
"Tell me quickly all that you know about the adoption of that young girl."
"Yes, monseigneur. About ten years ago, Touquet, who then had not a sou, took lodgers in addition to his business as a barber and bath-keeper. One evening a gentleman went to his house, with a little girl five or six years old, and requested a bed. Touquet received him. The traveller went out the same evening, leaving his little girl with Touquet, and that night he was murdered in the Rue Saint-Honoré near the Barrière des Sergents."
"Were the murderers discovered," said the marquis, looking attentively at Chaudoreille.
"Oh, no, monseigneur," responded the latter, smiling almost imperceptibly, "but—sometime afterwards Touquet was possessed of enough to buy the house which he had rented."
The marquis made a sudden movement, like that of a man who is about to step on a snake. A long silence succeeded, during which Chaudoreille kept his eyes bent on the ground, not daring to seek to read those of the marquis.
"And it is the daughter of that man whom he adopted," said Villebelle, breaking the silence.