"That's it! That's it," shouted Villebelle's guests, "if he is successful in what you have given him to do, tell us and we will employ him in turn." "O capededious," said Chaudoreille to himself, "a hundred pistoles if I render him amorous. Zounds! my fortune will be made. But a hundred blows of the stick if I am not successful. How can I render a man amorous who is tired of everything, and that in twenty-four hours. O my genius inspire me! Ah, if my portress resembled this Psyche." "Wait, drink that," said Montgeran, presenting Chaudoreille with a large glass full of madeira. "That will help you, perhaps, to find what Villebelle wants." Chaudoreille emptied the glass at a draught, after humbly bowing to the company; then he struck his forehead sharply, made a leap forward, and exclaimed,-- "I have found her!" "The wine has already operated," said De Chavagnac. "Come, speak," cried the marquis, "what have you found?" "Monseigneur," said Chaudoreille, bowing with respect, "deign to permit me to speak to you without witnesses." "The clown is right," said the marquis rising from the table. "If he should speak before you each one would wish to assure himself of the truth of his recital, and we should become rivals. Marcel carry a light into the next room. Come, my Chaudoreille, I will give you an audience. Have patience, gentlemen, I shall not be long." Saying these words, the marquis went into the next room, and Chaudoreille followed him with an air so important and mysterious that it greatly amused the three persons who remained at the table. When Chaudoreille found himself alone with the marquis, he examined the doors to see if they were shut, and stooped to look under the table, but the marquis pulled him by the ear, saying,-- "What signifies all this ceremony?" "Monseigneur, it is that I'm about to speak of something mysterious, a secret, and I don't wish that anybody should know it. I shall expose myself to great danger in speaking; they will perhaps want to take my life." "You'll expose yourself to a great deal more by not speaking," said the marquis impatiently, seizing the fire shovel. "I'm about to do so, monseigneur. I wager you've never seen Touquet's daughter." "Touquet's daughter. Has he a daughter?" "Not exactly, monseigneur; she's only a child that he adopted about ten years ago." "Touquet adopted a child? Hang it! that surprises me." "I was very sure, monseigneur, that you were ignorant of the circumstance." "There's something mysterious about it." "Very extraordinary. No one would guard a girl so closely unless he were keeping her for himself." "What is this girl like?"