oubtless 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."

This shrewd observation elicited a smile from Lecoq. "That difference,"
he replied, seriously, "is something, of course; but it was not that
which decided me in my opinion. If greater or less perfection of the
extremities regulated social distinctions, many mistresses would be
servants. What struck me was this: when the two women rushed wildly from
Mother Chupin's house, the woman with the small feet sprang across the
garden with one bound, she darted on some distance in advance of the
other. The terror of the situation, the vileness of the den, the horror
of the scandal, the thought of safety, inspired her with marvelous
energy. But her strength, as often happens with delicate and nervous
women, lasted only a few seconds. She was not half-way from the
Poivriere when her speed relaxed, her limbs trembled. Ten steps farther
on she tottered and almost fell. Some steps farther, and she became so
exhausted that she let go her hold upon her skirts; they trailed upon
the snow, tracing a faint circle there. Then the woman with the broad
feet came to aid her. She seized her companion round the waist; she
dragged her along; their footprints here are min