“What luck!” exclaimed old Tabaret.  “What an incredible piece of good fortune!  Gevrol may dispute it if he likes, but after all, chance is the cleverest agent of the police.  Who would have imagined such a history?  I was not, however, very far from the reality.  I guessed there was a child in the case.  But who would have dreamed of a substitution?—­an old sensational effect, that playwrights no longer dare make use of.  This is a striking example of the danger of following preconceived ideas in police investigation.  We are affrighted at unlikelihood; and, as in this case, the greatest unlikelihood often proves to be the truth.  We retire before the absurd, and it is the absurd that we should examine.  Everything is possible.  I would not take a thousand crowns for what I have learnt this evening.  I shall kill two birds with one stone.  I deliver up the criminal; and I give Noel a hearty lift up to recover his title and his fortune.  There, at least; is one who deserves what he will get.  For once I shall not be sorry to see a lad get on, who has been brought up in the school of adversity.  But, pshaw! he will be like all the rest.  Prosperity will turn his brain.  Already he begins to prate of his ancestors. . . .  Poor humanity he almost made me laugh. . . .  But it is mother Gerdy who surprises me most.  A woman to whom I would have given absolution without waiting to hear her confess.  When I think that I was on the point of proposing to her, ready to marry her!  B-r-r-r!”

At this thought, the old fellow shivered.  He saw himself married, and all on a sudden, discovering the antecedents of Madame Tabaret, becoming mixed up with a scandalous prosecution, compromised, and rendered ridiculous.

“When I think,” he continued, “that my worthy Gevrol is running after the man with the earrings!  Run, my boy, run!  Travel is a good thing for youth.  Won’t he be vexed?  He will wish me dead.  But I don’t care.  If any one wishes to do me an injury, M. Daburon will protect me.  Ah! there is one to whom I am going to do a good turn.  I can see him now, opening his eyes like saucers, when I say to him, ‘I have the rascal!’ He can boast of owing me something.  This investigation will bring him honour, or justice is not justice.  He will, at least, be made an officer of the Legion of Honour.  So much the better!  I like him.  If he is asleep, I am going to give him an agreeable awaking.  Won’t he just overpower me with questions!  He will want to know everything at once.”

Old Tabaret, who was now crossing the Pont des Saints-Peres, stopped suddenly.  “But the details!” said he.  “By Jove!  I have none.  I only know the bare facts.”  He resumed his walk, and continued, “They are right at the office, I am too enthusiastic; I jump at conclusions, as Gevrol says.  When I was with Noel, I should have cross-examined him, got hold of a quantity of useful details; but I did not even think of doing so.  I drank in his words.  I would have had him tell