“With all his heart!”

The detective looked up, and repeated slowly,—­

“The house in Vine Street, the paradise of this world.  An immense garden, a soil of marvellous beauty.  And what an exposure!  There are walls there on which I could raise finer peaches than they have at Montreuil, and richer Chasselas than those of Fontainebleau!”

“Did you find any thing there?” asked M. Folgat.

Goudar, thus recalled to business, looked angry again.

“Nothing at all,” he replied.  “Nor did I learn any thing from the tradesmen.  I am no further advanced than I was the first day.”

“Let us hope you will have more luck here.”

“I hope so; but I need your assistance to commence operations.  I must see Dr. Seignebos, and Mechinet the clerk.  Ask them to meet me at the place I shall assign in a note which I will send them.”

“I will tell them.”

“Now, if you want my incognito to be respected, you must get me a permit from the mayor, for Goudar, street-musician.  I keep my name, because here nobody knows me.  But I must have the permit this evening.  Wherever I might present myself, asking for a bed, they would call for my papers.”

“Wait here for a quarter of an hour, there is a bench,” said M. Folgat, “and I’ll go at once to the mayor.”

A quarter of an hour later, Goudar had his permit in his pocket, and went to take lodgings at the Red Lamb, the worst tavern in all Sauveterre.

When a painful and inevitable duty is to be performed, the true character of a man is apt to appear in its true light.  Some people postpone it as long as they can, and delay, like those pious persons who keep the biggest sin for the end of their confession:  others, on the contrary, are in a hurry to be relieved of their anxiety, and make an end of it as soon as they can.  M. Folgat belonged to this latter class.

Next morning he woke up at daylight, and said to himself,—­

“I will call upon the Countess Claudieuse this morning.”

At eight o’clock, he left the house, dressed more carefully than usual, and told the servant that he did not wish to be waited for if he should not be back for breakfast.

He went first to the court-house, hoping to meet the clerk there.  He was not disappointed.  The waiting-rooms were quite deserted yet; but Mechinet was already at work in his office, writing with the feverish haste of a man who has to pay for a piece of property that he wants to call his own.

When he saw Folgat enter, he rose, and said at once,—­

“You have heard the decision of the court?”

“Yes, thanks to your kindness; and I must confess it has not surprised me.  What do they think of it here?”

“Everybody expects a condemnation.”

“Well, we shall see!” said the young advocate.

And, lowering his voice, he added,—­

“But I came for another purpose.  The agent whom I expected has come, and he wishes to see you.  He will write to you to make an appointment, and I hope you will consent.”