"
Chupin had already caught up his hat; but just as he was leaving
the room, he paused abruptly. "How stupid!" he exclaimed. "I had
forgotten the principal thing. Where does Coralth live?"
"Unfortunately, I don't know."
According to his habit when things did not go to his liking,
Chupin began to scratch his head furiously. "That's bad," growled
he. "Viscounts of his stamp don't parade their addresses in the
directory. Still, I shall find him." However, although he
expressed this conviction he went off decidedly out of temper.
"I shall lose the entire evening hunting up the rascal's address,"
he grumbled, as he hastened homeward. "And whom shall I ask for
it?--Madame d'Argeles's concierge? Would he know it--M. Wilkie's
servant? That would be dangerous." He thought of roaming sound
about M. de Valorsay's residence, and of bribing one of the
valets; but while crossing the boulevard, the sight of Brebant's
Restaurant put a new idea into his head. "I have it!" he
muttered; "my man's caught!" And he darted into the nearest cafe
where he ordered some beer and writing materials.
Under other circumstances, he would have hesitated to employ so
hazardous an expedient as the one he was about to resort to, but
the character of his adversaries justified any course; besides,
time was passing, and he had no choice of resources. As soon as
the waiter served him, he drained his glass of beer to give
himself an inspiration, and then, in his finest hand, he wrote:
MY DEAR VISCOUNT--Here's the amount--one hundred francs--that I
lost to you last evening at piquet.
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