“And, what’s more, it is because Lucienne is my sister that you see
her there lying upon that bed. They attempted to murder her to-day!”
“Oh!”
“It was her mother who tried to get rid of her, so as to possess
herself of the fortune which my father had left her; and there is
every reason to believe that the snare was contrived by Vincent
Favoral.”
Mme. Zelie did not understand very well; but, when Marius and Mlle.
Lucienne had informed her of all that it was useful for her to know,
“Why,” she exclaimed, “what a horrid rascal that old Vincent must
be!”
And, as M. de Tregars remained dumb,
“This afternoon,” she went on, “I didn’t tell you any stories; but
I didn’t tell you every thing, either.” She stopped; and, after a
moment of deliberation,
“Well, I don’t care for old Vincent,” she said. “Ah! he tried to
have Lucienne killed, did he? Well, then, I am going to tell every
thing I know. First of all, he wasn’t any thing to me. It isn’t
very flattering; but it is so. He has never kissed so much as the
end of my finger. He used to say that he loved me, but that he
respected me still more, because I looked so much like a daughter
he had lost. Old humbug! And I believed him too! I did, upon my
word, at least in the beginning. But I am not such a fool as I
look. I found out very soon that he was making fun of me; and that
he was only using me as a blind to keep suspicion away from another
woman.”
“From what woman?”
“Ah! now, I do not know! All I know is that she is married, that
he is crazy about her, and that they are to run away together.”
“Hasn’t he gone, then?”
Mme. Cadelle’s face had become somewhat anxious, and for over a
minute she seemed to hesitate.
“Do you know,” she said at last, “that my answer is going to cost
me a lot? They have promised me a pile of money; but I haven’t got
it yet. And, if I say any thing, good-by! I sha’n’t have any thing.”
M. de Tregars was opening his lips to tell her that she might rest
easy on that score; but she cut him short.
“Well, no,” she said: “Old Vincent hasn’t gone. He got up a comedy,
so he told me, to throw the lady’s husband off the track. He sent
off a whole lot of baggage by the railroad; but he staid in Paris.”
“And do you know where he is hid?”
“In the Rue St. Lazare, of course: in the apartment that I hired
two weeks ago.”
In a voice trembling with the excitement of almost certain success,
“Would you consent to take me there?” asked M. de Tregars.
“Whenever you like,--to-morrow.”