"_Mon Dieu!_" cried he, "to think that it was Mademoiselle de Beaumont, and that she should be lost after all!" And the _aubergiste_ set himself to think of how it could all have happened. "I'll bet a million," cried he at length, starting from his reverie, and clapping his hands together with a concussion that echoed to the Bastille itself--"I'll bet a million that it was that great gluttonous Norman vagabond, who on that very night eat me up a _matelot d'anguille_ and a _dinde piquée_. He is understrapping cut-throat to Master Chavigni, and he has never been here since. He has carried her off, for a million; and taken her away to some prison in the provinces, all for trying to give a little news to the good Count. But I'll ferret out his route for you. On with your beaver and come with me. Margueritte, look to the doors while I am absent. I know where the scoundrel lodged; so come along, and we'll soon hear more of him." So saying, the landlord of the Sanglier Gourmand led Henry de La Mothe forth into the Rue St. Antoine, and thence through the several turnings and windings by which the Norman had carried Pauline to the late lodgings of Monsieur Marteville. Here Jacques Chatpilleur summoned all persons in the house, male and female, lodger and landlord, to give a full, true, and particular account of all they knew, believed, or suspected concerning the tall Norman who usually dwelt there. And such was the tone of authority which he used, and the frequency of his reference to Henry de La Mothe, whom he always specified as "this honourable youth," that the good folks instantly transformed, in their own imaginations, the Page of the Count de Blenau into little less than the valet de chambre of the prime Minister, and consequently answered all questions with becoming deference. The sum of the information which was thus obtained amounted to this, that on the evening in question, Monsieur Marteville had brought thither a young lady--whether by force or not, no one could specify; that she was dressed as a Languedoc peasant, which Monsieur Chatpilleur acknowledged to be the disguise Pauline had assumed; and that the same evening he had carried her away again on horseback, leading her steed by the bridle rein. It farther appeared that the Norman, while preparing to set out, had asked a great many questions about Troyes in Champagne, and had inquired whether there was not a wood extending over some leagues near Mesnil St. Loup, which was reported to be infested by robbers. From all this the inhabitants of the house had concluded universally that his journey was destined to be towards Troyes, and that he would take care to avoid the wood of Mesnil St. Loup. Henry de La Mothe now fancied that he had the clue completely in his hands, and returning with Jacques Chatpilleur to his _auberge_, he took one night's necessary rest, and having exchanged his horse, which was knocked up with its journey, he set out the next morning on his return to Moulins.