This surprising result of the old man’s reflections would have amazed Lecoq, if his mind had not been a hundred leagues away.  “No, I am not pleased,” he responded.

“And why, pray?  Only ten minutes ago you were as gay as a lark.”

“Then I did not see the misfortune that threatens us.”

“A misfortune!”

“A very great misfortune.  Do you not perceive that the weather has undesirably changed.  It is evident that the wind is now coming from the south.  The fog has disappeared, but the sky is cloudy and threatening.  It will rain in less than an hour.”

“A few drops are falling now; I just felt one.”

These words produced on Lecoq much the same effect as a whip-up on a spirited horse.  He sprang forward, and, adopting a still more hurried pace, exclaimed:  “Let us make haste! let us make haste!”

The old police agent followed him as in duty bound; but his mind was, if possible, still more troubled by the replies of his young companion.  A great misfortune!  The wind from the south!  Rain!  He did not, he could not see the connection.

Greatly puzzled, and not a little anxious, Father Absinthe asked for an explanation, although he had but little more breath than was absolutely necessary to enable him to continue the forced march he was making.  “Upon my word,” said he, “I have racked my brains—­”

His companion took pity on his anxiety.  “What!” he exclaimed, as he still hastened forward, “you do not understand that our investigation, my success, and your reward, are dependent upon those black clouds which the wind is driving toward us!”

“Oh!”

“Twenty minutes of merely gentle rain, and our time and labor will be lost.  If it rains, the snow will melt, and then farewell to our proofs.  Let us get on—­let us get on more quickly!  You know very well that in such cases words don’t suffice.  If we declare to the public prosecutor that we have seen these footprints, he will ask, where?  And what can we say?  If we swear by all the gods that we have seen the footprints of a man and of two women, the investigating magistrate will say, ’Let me see them.’  And who will feel sheepish then?  Father Absinthe and Lecoq.  Besides, Gevrol would not fail to declare that we were saying what was not true, in order to enhance our own value, and humiliate him.”

“What an idea!”

“Faster, papa, faster; you will have all day to-morrow to be indignant.  Perhaps it will not rain.  In that case, these perfect, clear, and easily recognizable footprints will prove the culprits’ ruin.  How can we preserve them?  By what process could we solidify them?  I would deluge them with my blood if that could only cause them to congeal.”

Father Absinthe was just then thinking that his share of the labor had hitherto been the least important; for he had merely held the lantern.  But here was a chance for him to acquire a real and substantial right to the prospective reward.  “I know a method,” said he, “by which one could preserve these marks in the snow.”