"Is that all you know concerning Monsieur Léodgard?"
"No, indeed! Oh! I have not emptied my bag yet, as my employer says. Mademoiselle must know that I have a relation who lives near Vincennes; he is a simple farmer; he has a little cottage with a sizable piece of land, where he grows vegetables and fruit, which he brings to Paris to sell. Thomas's cottage—Thomas is my kinsman's name—is in a very lonely spot, just this side of the village and château of Vincennes. Ah! how frightened Plumard would be there! so when I suggest to him to go to Thomas's with me, he always refuses; and yet, my relative has a very nice little wine.—But to come to my story: when you leave our quarter of the Cité, you have to cross Pont Saint-Louis, otherwise called the Pont-aux-Choux. And that is a very dangerous place, especially at this time, for it is the favorite resort of Giovanni, the robber whom I mentioned just now. I am confident that he has his lair in the neighborhood. About five days ago, no more, Thomas's ass was stolen on the Pont-aux-Choux; he did not see the robber, therefore it was Giovanni. Also, an old peasant woman of Vincennes was found murdered within fifty yards of that infernal bridge; that too was done by that damned brigand!"
"No, monsieur, no; that is not true!" cried Miretta. "Giovanni did not murder that woman! it is impossible!"
"And why is it impossible, I pray to know, young lady's-maid?" demanded Bahuchet, staring at the girl in amazement.
Miretta tried to dissemble her emotion as she replied:
"Why, because I have been assured—I have heard everybody say that Giovanni never sheds blood, that no one had ever been injured by him!"
"Really, my pretty child! And why do they not also say that when he pillages travellers, the brigand gives them sweetmeats and preserves to make up to them for the money he steals? What an absurd idea—that a man who attacks with arms in his hand does not use his arms when he is resisted! But there are people who delight to tell such foolish tales, and who pretend to know everything better than anybody else.—I would just like to have a hundred men, well armed; I would lie in ambush under the Pont-aux-Choux, and within a week I would have captured, hanged, or shot the famous Giovanni!"
"Ah! so that is how you expect to capture him?" muttered Miretta in a trembling voice, gazing at the little man with eyes that flashed fire.
"It seems to me to be very easy; when you know almost the spot where a bird has its nest, you can find it. But I beg pardon, mademoiselle; I see that you consider me too talkative.—I was saying that Thomas's cottage is isolated; but within about three gunshots of it, toward Paris, there is a very pretty place, a very elegant sort of pavilion, which belongs now, I believe, to the Baron de Montrevert, but which formerly belonged to Comte Léodgard, who lost it at cards. This pavilion is what our seigneurs of the court call a petite maison, a place to which they go to enjoy themselves in secret, to which they take their mistresses or courtesans; and the young count——"
"Enough, monsieur, enough!" said Valentine, with a glance at the young man which cut him short. "This does not interest me. That the Comte de Marvejols should ruin himself like a gentleman, that he should commit a thousand follies—fight, drink too much, run in debt—all that I can understand! But that he should fall in love with a bath keeper's daughter, that that passion should keep him away from the world—that is what seems inconceivable to me!—But this plume that you found—are you willing to give it to me?"