"The coward!" exclaimed Léodgard, as he watched the little clerk's flight; "he is afraid of the danger!—So this Marquis de Santoval has suspicions; he plays the spy, he posts his servants in ambush! But it will avail him nothing! If Valentine will second me, we will crush all the obstacles that he may place between us!"
Some time had passed without any new occurrence, when Miretta one day entered Maître Bourdinard's office, where Plumard was trying to detach the last remaining piece of his plaster; while Bahuchet regaled himself with a small ham and a bottle of superfine old wine, in which he indulged himself with the proceeds of his visits to the Hôtel de Santoval.
On recognizing the marchioness's young lady's-maid, Bahuchet turned pale and swallowed a mouthful the wrong way, dreading a new cudgelling.
But the girl smiled at him and motioned that she wished to speak with him in secret.
The little clerk regretfully quitted his ham and went out with Miretta, who said to him when they reached a solitary spot:
"Are you willing to undertake a commission?"
"If it is to go to the Hôtel de Santoval again, never! I have had enough of that!"
"No, it is not that, but to carry this note to him who sent you to my mistress."
"Oh! that is a different matter."
"Here, this is for you; will you do the errand?"