She was expecting them.  When they rang, she advanced to meet them in the ante-chamber, and greeted M. Lecoq graciously and smilingly.  She conducted them into her drawing-room, invited them to sit in her best arm-chairs, and pressed some refreshments upon them.

“I see, dear Madame,” began M. Lecoq, “that you have received my little note.”

“Yes, Monsieur Lecoq, early this morning; I was not up.”

“Very good.  And have you been so kind as to do the service I asked?”

“How can you ask me, when you know that I would go through the fire for you?  I set about it at once, getting up expressly for the purpose.”

“Then you’ve got the address of Pelagie Taponnet, called Jenny?”

“Yes, I have,” returned Mme. Charman, with an obsequious bow.  “If I were the kind of woman to magnify my services, I would tell you what trouble it cost me to find this address, and how I ran all over Paris and spent ten francs in cab hire.”

“Well, let’s come to the point.”

“The truth is, I had the pleasure of seeing Miss Jenny day before yesterday.”

“You are joking!”

“Not the least in the world.  And let me tell you that she is a very courageous and honest girl.”

“Really!”

“She is, indeed.  Why, she has owed me four hundred and eighty francs for two years.  I hardly thought the debt worth much, as you may imagine.  But Jenny came to me day before yesterday all out of breath and told me that she had inherited some money, and had brought me what she owed me.  And she was not joking, either; for her purse was full of bank notes, and she paid me the whole of my bill.  She’s a good girl!” added Mme. Charman, as if profoundly convinced of the truth of her encomium.

M. Lecoq exchanged a significant glance with the old justice; the same idea struck them both at the same moment.  These bank-notes could only be the payment for some important service rendered by Jenny to Tremorel.  M. Lecoq, however, wished for more precise information.

“What was Jenny’s condition before this windfall?” asked he.

“Ah, Monsieur Lecoq, she was in a dreadful condition.  Since the count deserted her she has been constantly falling lower and lower.  She sold all she had piece by piece.  At last, she mixed with the worst kind of people, drank absinthe, they say, and had nothing to put to her back.  When she got any money she spent it on a parcel of hussies instead of buying clothes.”

“And where is she living?”

“Right by, in a house in the Rue Vintimille.”

“If that is so,” replied M. Lecoq, severely, “I am astonished that she is not here.”

“It’s not my fault, dear Monsieur Lecoq; I know where the nest is, but not where the bird is.  She was away this morning when I sent for her.”

“The deuce!  But then—­it’s very annoying; I must hunt her up at once.”