Catenac watched Mascarin as he was speaking with an expression of ill-concealed enmity.

“You are well informed, on my word,” muttered he.

“I think I am,” returned Mascarin.  “After this you will go back to the hotel, and not until then—­do you understand?—­and you will consult as to the first steps to be taken.  The plan proposed by Perpignan is an excellent one.”

“What! you know it then?”

“Of course I do.  He proposed to divide Vendome and its suburbs into a certain number of circles, and to make a house-to-house visitation in each of them.  Let him go to work in this manner.  Of course, to do so, you will require a guide.”

“Of course we should require such a person.”

“Here, Catenac, I must leave a little to chance, for I am not quite omnipotent.  But there are nine chances out of ten that your host will advise you to avail yourself of the services of a man called Frejot, who acts as commissioner to the hotel.  It may be, however, that he may designate some one else; but in that case you must, by some means or other, manage to employ the services of one other man.”

“What am I to say to him?”

“He understands what he is to do completely.  Well, these preliminaries being settled, you will commence on Monday morning to search the suburb called Areines, under the guidance of Frejot.  Leave all the responsibility to Perpignan, but make sure that the Duke comes with you.  Ask the denizens a series of questions which you have prepared beforehand, such as ’My friends, we are in search of a boy.  A reward of ten thousand francs is offered to any one who will put us on his track.  He must have left these parts in August, 1856, and some of you may have seen him.’”

Here Catenac stopped Mascarin.

“Wait a moment.  Your own words are excellent; I will write them down.”

“All Monday,” continued Mascarin, “you will not make much progress, and for the next few days it will be the same, but on Saturday prepare yourself for a great surprise; for on that day Frejot will take you to a large, lonely farmhouse, on the shores of a lake.  This farm is held by a man named Lorgelin, who cultivates it with the assistance of his wife and his two sons.  You will find these worthy people at dinner.  They will offer you some refreshment, and you will accept.  At the next word you utter you will find that they will glance at each other in a meaning manner, and the wife will exclaim, ’Blessed Virgin!  Surely the gentleman is speaking of the poor lad we have so often talked about.’”

As Mascarin went on describing his arrangements, his whole form seemed to dilate, and his face shone with the knowledge of mastery and power.  His voice was so clear and his manner so full of authority and command, that it carried conviction to the minds of all those who were seated listening to him.  He spoke of what would happen as if he was dealing with an absolute certainty, and went on with such wonderful lucidity and force of reasoning that they seemed to be absolutely real.