room after
three weeks of imprisonment, and the disgrace, according to provincial
notions, of the last few hours. Kolb and Marion had come back. Marion
had heard in L'Houmeau that Lucien had been seen walking along on the
Paris road, somewhere beyond Marsac. Some country folk, coming in to
market, had noticed his fine clothes. Kolb, therefore, had set out on
horseback along the highroad, and heard at last at Mansle that Lucien
was traveling post in a caleche--M. Marron had recognized him as he
passed.

"What did I tell you?" said Petit-Claud. "That fellow is not a poet; he
is a romance in heaven knows how many chapters."

"Traveling post!" repeated Eve. "Where can he be going this time?"

"Now go to see the Cointets, they are expecting you," said Petit-Claud,
turning to David.

"Ah, monsieur!" cried the beautiful Eve, "pray do your best for our
interests; our whole future lies in your hands."

"If you prefer it, madame, the conference can be held here. I will leave
David with you. The Cointets will come this evening, and you shall see
if I can defend your interests."

"Ah! monsieur, I should be very glad," said Eve.

"Very well," said Petit-Claud; "this evening, at seven o'clock."

"Thank you," said Eve; and from her tone and glance Petit-Claud knew
that he had made great progress in his fair client's confidence.

"You have nothing to fear; you see I was right," he added. "Your brother
is a hundred miles away from suicide, and when all comes to all, perhaps
you will have a little fortune this evening. A _bona-fide_ purchaser for
the business has turned up."

"If that is the case," said Eve, "why should we not wait awhile before
binding ourselves to the Cointets?"

Petit-Claud saw the danger. "You are forgetting, madame," he said, "that
you cannot sell your business until you have paid M. Metivier; for a
distress warrant has been issued."

As soon as Petit-Claud reached home he sent for Cerizet, and when the
printer's foreman appeared, drew him into the embrasure of the window.

"To-morrow evening," he said, "you will be the proprietor of the
Sechards' printing-office, and then there are those behind you who have
influence enough to transfer the license;" (then in a lowered voice),
"but you have no mind to end in the hulks, I suppose?"

"The hulks! What's that? What's that?"

"Your letter to David was a forgery. It is in my possession. What would
Henriette say in a court of law? I do not want to ruin y