“Done! I’ll come up again to-morrow; for, to tell the truth, I am tired
to death, and must go and lie down.”
But he told a fib; for he did not go back to his rooms. In spite of
the wretched weather, he left the house; and, as soon as he was in the
street, he hid himself in a dark corner, from which he could watch the
front-door of the house. He remained there a long time, exposed to wind
and rain, uttering now and then a low oath, and stamping with his feet
to keep himself warm. At last, just as it struck eleven, a hack stopped
at No. 23. A young man got out, rang the bell, and entered.
“He is Maxime de Brevan,” murmured the old man. Then he added in a
savage voice,--
“I knew he would come, the scoundrel! to see if the charcoal had done
its work.”
But the same moment the young man came out again, and jumped into the
carriage, which quickly drove off.
“Aha!” laughed the merchant. “No chance for you, my fine fellow! You
have lost your game, and you’ll have to try your luck elsewhere; and
this time I am on hand. I hold you fast; and, instead of one bill to
pay, there will be two now.”