cognized him no longer. Immediately after Dionysia's
departure, they had come to him, hoping to hear at last what was meant
by that mysterious interview; but at the first word he had cried out
with a tone of voice which frightened his sisters to death,--

"That is none of your business! That is nobody's business!" and he had
remained alone, quite overcome by his adventure, and dreaming of the
means to make good his promise without ruining himself. That was no easy
matter.

When the decisive moment arrived, he discovered that he would never be
able to get the note into M. de Boiscoran's hands, without being caught
by that lynx-eyed M. Galpin: as the letter was burning in his pocket, he
saw himself compelled, after long hesitation, to appeal for help to the
man who waited on Jacques,--to Trumence, in fine. The latter was, after
all, a good enough fellow; his only besetting sin being unconquerable
laziness, and his only crime in the eyes of the law perpetual vagrancy.
He was attached to Mechinet, who upon former occasions, when he was in
jail, had given him some tobacco, or a little money to buy a glass of
wine. He made therefore no objection, when the clerk asked him to give
a letter to M. de Boiscoran, and to bring back an answer. He acquitted
himself, moreover, faithfully and honestly of his commission. But,
because every thing had gone well once, it did not follow that Mechinet
felt quite at peace. Besides being tormented by the thought that he
had betrayed his duty, he felt wretched in being at the mercy of an
accomplice. How easily might he not be betrayed! A slight indiscretion,
an awkward blunder, an unlucky accident, might do it. What would become
of him then?

He would lose his place and all his other employments, one by one.
He would lose confidence and consideration. Farewell to all ambitious
dreams, all hopes of wealth, all dreams of an advantageous marriage.
And still, by an odd contradiction, Mechinet did not repent what he had
done, and felt quite ready to do it over again. He was in this state of
mind when the old nurse brought him Dionysia's letter.

"What, again?" he exclaimed.

And when he had read the few lines, he replied,--

"Tell your mistress I will be there!" But in his heart he thought some
untoward event must have happened.

The little garden-gate was half-open: he had only to push it to enter.
There was no moon; but the night was clear, and at a short distance from
him, under the trees,