“That’s so, that don’t make any difference about the business. However, this lady was mad over her lover, who didn’t care anything for her and robbed her all he could. It seems that they had a row toward the end, and that the monster must have poisoned her to revenge himself because she proposed to tell about all his goings-on.” “That is very probable.” “Ah! men are vile dogs nowadays. They kill a woman as quick as a fly!” “What does your Suzanne intend to do?” “Oh! she has already told the police all this, so that they can get track of the criminal, who is now I don’t know where.” “That is very wise, and I hope they will discover the truth.” Dufresne said these last words in an undertone. Despite the assurance which he affected, the discomposure of his features betrayed the sensations that agitated him. The evening came to an end earlier than usual. Edouard was anxious, and Dufresne also seemed greatly excited. They sent the two young women away. Lampin, who alone had retained his good spirits, poured out bumper after bumper for his friends, making fun of their gloom. Edouard drank to forget himself, but Dufresne was not inclined to bear them company, and Lampin got tipsy alone, trying in vain to make his companions laugh. “Come, come, my boys, this won’t work,” he said, filling the glasses; “you’re as solemn to-night as gallows-birds! I forgive Bellecour, who is only a chicken-hearted fellow anyway! But you over there--Vermontré--Courval--Dufresne--or whatever you choose to call yourself----” “Hold your tongue, you idiot!” cried Dufresne angrily; “I forbid you to call me by that last name now!” “You forbid me! Well, upon my soul! what a savage look! You used to call yourself that, when you lived with that poor Dolban, who thought you really loved her, and who----” “Hold your tongue, I say, you sot!” “Sot! ah! it sounds well for you to call me a sot, when you slept under the table last night! and when you drink punch like a hole in the ground! But never mind, I don’t quarrel with my friends, and we are friends, after all. It is plain enough that you are both out of temper; Edouard on account of that scrap of paper which worries him so, and you--Oh! as to you, I don’t know what the matter is; it must be some martingale that didn’t work, or some friend that took you in, or else it’s--But I say, what was that Véronique was telling you, about her poisoning, and her widow, and the lover who wasn’t her lover? Do you know that’s as like your intimacy with old Dolban as one drop of water is like another! If it was you--Ha! ha! you’re quite capable of such a game!” “For heaven’s sake, go to bed, Lampin; you see that Edouard is asleep already, and you will wake him up with your laughter.”