His companion’s despairing gestures obliged the speaker to pause.  This description of a person whose existence had but just now been demonstrated, these precise details given in a tone of absolute certainty, completely upset all Father Absinthe’s ideas, increasing his perplexity beyond all bounds.

“This is not right,” he growled, “this is not kind.  You are poking fun at me.  I take the thing seriously; I listen to you, I obey you in everything, and then you mock me in this way.  We find a clue, and instead of following it up, you stop to relate all these absurd stories.”

“No,” replied his companion, “I am not jesting, and I have told you nothing of which I am not absolutely sure, nothing that is not strictly and indisputably true.”

“And you would have me believe—­”

“Fear nothing, papa; I would not have you do violence to your convictions.  When I have told you my reasons, and my means of information, you will laugh at the simplicity of the theory that seems so incomprehensible to you now.”

“Go on, then,” said the good man, in a tone of resignation.

“We had decided,” rejoined Lecoq, “that the accomplice mounted guard here.  The time seemed long, and, growing impatient, he paced to and fro—­the length of this log of wood—­occasionally pausing to listen.  Hearing nothing, he stamped his foot, doubtless exclaiming:  ’What the deuce has happened to him down there!’ He had made about thirty turns (I have counted them), when a sound broke the stillness—­the two women were coming.”

On hearing Lecoq’s recital, all the conflicting sentiments that are awakened in a child’s mind by a fairy tale—­doubt, faith, anxiety, and hope—­filled Father Absinthe’s heart.  What should he believe? what should he refuse to believe?  He did not know.  How was he to separate the true from the false among all these equally surprising assertions?  On the other hand, the gravity of his companion, which certainly was not feigned, dismissed all idea of pleasantry.

Finally, curiosity began to torture him.  “We had reached the point where the women made their appearance,” said he.

“Yes, indeed,” responded Lecoq, “but here all certainty ceases; no more proofs, only suppositions.  Still, I have every reason to believe that our fugitives left the drinking den before the beginning of the fight, before the cries that attracted our attention.  Who were they?  I can only conjecture.  I suspect, however, that they were not equals in rank.  I am inclined to think that one was the mistress, the other her servant.”

“That is proved,” ventured the old man, “by the great difference in their feet and in their shoes.”