"Ah! it
is you, Monsieur Maumejan?" he faltered, with a crestfallen air.
"It's nothing; we were only in fun."
M. Maumejan seemed perfectly satisfied with this explanation; and
in the indifferent tone of a man who is delivering a message, the
meaning of which he scarcely understood, he said: "A person who
knows that your wife is in my employ requested me to ask you if
you would be ready to attend to that little matter she spoke of."
"Certainly. I was preparing for it a moment ago."
Chupin heard no more. He had hurried out, his clothes in
disorder, and himself not a little hurt; but his delight made him
lose all thought of his injuries. "That's M. Ferailleur," he
muttered, "I'm sure of it, and I'm going to prove it." So saying
he hid himself in the doorway of a vacant house a few paces
distant from the Vantrassons', and waited.
Then as soon as M. Maumejan emerged from the Model Lodging House,
he followed him. The young man with the clean shaven face walked
up the Route d'Asnieres, turned to the right into the Route de la
Revolte, and at last paused before a house of humble aspect. At
that moment Chupin darted toward him, and softly called, "M'sieur
Ferailleur!"
The young man turned instinctively. Then seeing his mistake, and
feeling that he had betrayed himself, he sprang upon Chupin, and
caught him by the wrists: "Scoundrel! who are you?" he exclaimed.
Pages:
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425