“Parbleu!  But I’m not surprised at his conduct.  For his wife’s murder is the least of his crimes; why, he tried to put it off upon somebody else!”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“He accused a poor devil as innocent as you or I, who might have been condemned to death if he hadn’t been able to tell where he was on Wednesday night.”

M. Lecoq said this lightly, with intended deliberation, so as to watch the impression he produced on Jenny.

“Do you know who the man was?” asked she in a tremulous voice.

“The papers said it was a poor lad who was his gardener.”

“A little man, wasn’t he, thin, very dark, with black hair?”

“Just so.”

“And whose name was—­wait now—­was—­Guespin.”

“Ah ha, you know him then?”

Jenny hesitated.  She was trembling very much, and evidently regretted that she had gone so far.

“Bah!” said she at last.  “I don’t see why I shouldn’t tell what I know.  I’m an honest girl, if Tremorel is a rogue; and I don’t want them to condemn a poor wretch who is innocent.”

“You know something about it, then?”

“Well, I know nearly all about it—­that’s honest, ain’t it?  About a week ago Hector wrote to me to meet him at Melun; I went, found him, and we breakfasted together.  Then he told me that he was very much annoyed about his cook’s marriage; for one of his servants was deeply in love with her, and might go and raise a rumpus at the wedding.”

“Ah, he spoke to you about the wedding, then?”

“Wait a minute.  Hector seemed very much embarrassed, not knowing how to avoid the disturbance he feared.  Then I advised him to send the servant off out of the way on the wedding-day.  He thought a moment, and said that my advice was good.  He added that he had found a means of doing this; on the evening of the marriage he would send the man on an errand for me, telling him that the affair was to be concealed from the countess.  I was to dress up—­as a chambermaid, and wait for the man at the cafe in the Place du Chatelet, between half-past nine and ten that evening; I was to sit at the table nearest the entrance on the right, with a bouquet in my hand, so that he should recognize me.  He would come in and give me a package; then I was to ask him to take something, and so get him tipsy if possible, and then walk about Paris with him till morning.”

Jenny expressed herself with difficulty, hesitating, choosing her words, and trying to remember exactly what Tremorel said.

“And you,” interrupted M. Lecoq, “did you believe all this story about a jealous servant?”

“Not quite; but I fancied that he had some intrigue on foot, and I wasn’t sorry to help him deceive a woman whom I detested, and who had wronged me.”

“So you did as he told you?”

“Exactly, from beginning to end; everything happened just as Hector had foreseen.  The man came along at just ten o’clock, took me for a maid, and gave me the package.  I naturally offered him a glass of beer; he took it and proposed another, which I also accepted.  He is a very nice fellow, this gardener, and I passed a very pleasant evening with him.  He knew lots of queer things, and—­”