He lived obscurely, glad to feel that such obscurity sheltered him from reverses and disappointments, and was satisfied to humbly pay in the lowest coin his debt to the country.  Thanks to Jules, his position had been much ameliorated by a worthy marriage.  An unrecognized patriot, a minister in actual fact, he contented himself with groaning in his chimney-corner at the course of the government.  In his own home, Jacquet was an easy-going king,—­an umbrella-man, as they say, who hired a carriage for his wife which he never entered himself.  In short, to end this sketch of a philosopher unknown to himself, he had never suspected and never in all his life would suspect the advantages he might have drawn from his position,—­that of having for his intimate friend a broker, and of knowing every morning all the secrets of the State.  This man, sublime after the manner of that nameless soldier who died in saving Napoleon by a “qui vive,” lived at the ministry.

In ten minutes Jules was in his friend’s office.  Jacquet gave him a chair, laid aside methodically his green silk eye-shade, rubbed his hands, picked up his snuff-box, rose, stretched himself till his shoulder-blades cracked, swelled out his chest, and said:—­

“What brings you here, Monsieur Desmarets?  What do you want with me?”

“Jacquet, I want you to decipher a secret,—­a secret of life and death.”

“It doesn’t concern politics?”

“If it did, I shouldn’t come to you for information,” said Jules.  “No, it is a family matter, about which I require you to be absolutely silent.”

“Claude-Joseph Jacquet, dumb by profession.  Don’t you know me by this time?” he said, laughing.  “Discretion is my lot.”

Jules showed him the letter.

“You must read me this letter, addressed to my wife.”

“The deuce! the deuce! a bad business!” said Jacquet, examining the letter as a usurer examines a note to be negotiated.  “Ha! that’s a gridiron letter!  Wait a minute.”

He left Jules alone for a moment, but returned immediately.

“Easy enough to read, my friend!  It is written on the gridiron plan, used by the Portuguese minister under Monsieur de Choiseul, at the time of the dismissal of the Jesuits.  Here, see!”

Jacquet placed upon the writing a piece of paper cut out in regular squares, like the paper laces which confectioners wrap round their sugarplums; and Jules then read with perfect ease the words that were visible in the interstices.  They were as follows:—­

“Don’t be uneasy, my dear Clemence; our happiness cannot again be troubled; and your husband will soon lay aside his suspicions.  However ill you may be, you must have the courage to come here to-morrow; find strength in your love for me.  Mine for you has induced me to submit to a cruel operation, and I cannot leave my bed.  I have had the actual cautery applied to my back, and it was necessary to burn it in a long time; you