An eloquent gesture expressed the remainder of his thought, then he added: “We must now go back to the Poivriere, and go quickly. And you, my friend, may now extinguish your lantern.” While doing his best to keep pace with his companion, who was in such haste to get back to the Poivriere that he almost ran, Father Absinthe’s thoughts were as busy as his legs, and an entirely new train of ideas was awakened in his mind. During the twenty-five years that he had been connected with the police force, the good man--to use his own expression--had seen many of his colleagues walk over him and win, after only a few months’ work, a promotion that his long years of service had not gained for him. In these cases he had not failed to accuse his superiors of injustice, and his fortunate rivals of gross flattery. In his opinion, seniority was the only claim to advancement--the only, the best, the most respectable claim; and he was wont to sum up all his opinions, all his grief and bitterness of mind in one phrase: “It is infamous to pass over an old member of the service.” To-night, however, Father Absinthe discovered that there is something else in the world besides seniority, and sufficient reasons for what he had formerly regarded as favoritism. He secretly confessed that this newcomer whom he had treated so carelessly had just followed up a clue as he, veteran though he was, would never have succeeded in doing. But communing with himself was not this good man’s forte; he soon grew weary of reflection; and on reaching a place where they were obliged to proceed more slowly on account of the badness of the road, he deemed it a favorable opportunity to resume the conversation. “You are silent, comrade,” he ventured to remark, “and one might swear that you were not exactly pleased.” This surprising result of the old man’s reflections would have amazed Lecoq, if his mind had not been a hundred leagues away. “No, I am not pleased,” he responded. “And why, pray? Only ten minutes ago you were as gay as a lark.” “Then I did not see the misfortune that threatens us.” “A misfortune!” “A very great misfortune. Do you not perceive that the weather has undesirably changed. It is evident that the wind is now coming from the south. The fog has disappeared, but the sky is cloudy and threatening. It will rain in less than an hour.” “A few drops are falling now; I just felt one.” These words produced on Lecoq much the same effect as a whip-up on a spirited horse. He sprang forward, and, adopting a still more hurried pace, exclaimed: “Let us make haste! let us make haste!” The old police agent followed him as in duty bound; but his mind was, if possible, still more troubled by the replies of his young companion. A great misfortune! The wind from the south! Rain! He did not, he could not see the connection.