“I do not comprehend,” said Monsieur de Lamotte.  “What can induce my wife not to inform me of this?”

“You did not know?”

“I know nothing.  I was wondering just now with Monsieur le cure why I did not hear from her.”

“Madame de Lamotte was going to write to you, and I do not know what can have hindered her.”

“When did you leave her?”

“Several days ago.  I have not been at Paris; I am returning from Chartres.  I believed you were informed of everything.”

Monsieur de Lamotte remained silent for some moments.  Then, fixing his eyes upon Derues’ immovable countenance, he said, with some emotion—­

“You are a husband and father, sir; in the name of this double and sacred affection which is, not unknown to you, do not hide anything from me:  I fear some misfortune has happened to my wife which you are concealing.”

Derues’ physiognomy expressed nothing but a perfectly natural astonishment.

“What can have suggested such ideas to you; dear sir?” In saying this he glanced at the cure; wishing to ascertain if this distrust was Monsieur de Lamotte’s own idea, or had been suggested to him.  The movement was so rapid that neither of the others observed it.  Like all knaves, obliged by their actions to be continually on the watch, Derues possessed to a remarkable extent the art of seeing all round him without appearing to observe anything in particular.  He decided that as yet he had only to combat a suspicion unfounded on proof, and he waited till he should be attacked more seriously.

“I do not know,” he said, “what may have happened during my absence; pray explain yourself, for you are making me share your disquietude.”

“Yes, I am exceedingly anxious; I entreat you, tell me the whole truth.  Explain this silence, and this absence prolonged beyond all expectation.  You finished your business with Madame de Lamotte several days ago:  once again, why did she not write?  There is no letter, either from her or my son!  To-morrow I shall send someone to Paris.”

“Good heavens!” answered Derues, “is there nothing but an accident which could cause this delay? . . .  Well, then,” he continued, with the embarrassed look of a man compelled to betray a confidence,—­“well, then, I see that in order to reassure you, I shall have to give up a secret entrusted to me.”

He then told Monsieur de Lamotte that his wife was no longer at Paris, but at Versailles, where she was endeavouring to obtain an important and lucrative appointment, and that, if she had left him in ignorance of her efforts in this direction; it was only to give him an agreeable surprise.  He added that she had removed her son from the school, and hoped to place him either in the riding school or amongst the royal pages.  To prove his words, he opened his paper-case, and produced the letter written by Edouard in answer to the one quoted above.