La Couteau's dry voice rang as if it were an axe dealing a deadly blow. Although she could not understand the lady's sudden pallor and despairing emotion, she certainly seemed to derive cruel enjoyment from it. "Are you quite sure of your information?" resumed Constance, struggling against the facts. "That is perhaps mere village tittle-tattle." "Tittle-tattle, madame? Oh! when I undertake to do anything I do it properly. I spoke to the gendarmes. They have scoured the whole district, and it is certain that Alexandre-Honoré left no address behind him when he went off with those three hundred francs. He is still on the run. As for that I'll stake my name on it." This was indeed a hard blow for Constance. That lad, whom she fancied she had found again, of whom she dreamt incessantly, and on whom she had based so many unacknowledgable plans of vengeance, escaped her, vanished once more into the unknown! She was distracted by it as by some pitiless stroke of fate, some fresh and irreparable defeat. However, she continued the interrogatory. "Surely you did not merely see the gendarmes? you were instructed to question everybody." "That is precisely what I did, madame. I saw the schoolmaster, and I spoke to the other persons who had employed the lad. They all told me that he was a good-for-nothing. The schoolmaster remembered that he had been a liar and a bully. Now he's a thief; that makes him perfect. I can't say otherwise than I have said, since you wanted to know the plain truth." La Couteau thus emphasized her statements on seeing that the lady's suffering increased. And what strange suffering it was; a heart-pang at each fresh accusation, as if her husband's illegitimate child had become in some degree her own! She ended indeed by silencing the nurse-agent. "Thank you. The boy is no longer at Rougemont, that is all we wished to know." La Couteau thereupon turned to Mathieu, continuing her narrative, in order to give him his money's worth. "I also made the other apprentice talk a bit," said she; "you know, that big carroty fellow, Richard, whom I spoke to you about. He's another whom I wouldn't willingly trust. But it's certain that he doesn't know where his companion has gone. The gendarmes think that Alexandre is in Paris." Thereupon Mathieu in his turn thanked the woman, and handed her a bank-note for fifty francs--a gift which brought a smile to her face and rendered her obsequious, and, as she herself put it, "as discreetly silent as the grave." Then, as three nurses came into the refectory, and Monsieur Broquette could be heard scrubbing another's hands in the kitchen, by way of teaching her how to cleanse herself of her native dirt, Constance felt nausea arise within her, and made haste to follow her companion away. Once in the street, instead of entering the cab which was waiting, she paused pensively, haunted by La Couteau's final words. "Did you hear?" she exclaimed. "That wretched lad may be in Paris."