“We will find out,” he said and called to the driver to stop at the nearest café; “we will consult the _Bulletin_, and if that is not successful we will go to the club and look at the _Tout Paris_. We shall then know from whom mademoiselle seeks consolation, which you must admit she has done very rapidly and I expect even before her misfortunes. It is not very flattering for masculine love, but every time a man has any remorse at deceiving a woman, he can assert that he is a dupe and that she had already begun.” As he said this he jumped from the cab before it had quite stopped, alighted on the pavement in the Rue François I, and entered a café the only occupant of which was a waiter asleep on a seat. Without waking him Molan picked up the _Bulletin_ from the counter, the cashier being absent at the time, and with a hand which trembled a little pointed out to me the two following lines: Rue de Lincoln, 23—Tournade, Louis Ernest, gentleman. “Was I right?” he said with a grin. He shut up the _Bulletin_ and put it back on the counter adding: “You must admit that I deserved better treatment.” “I will admit nothing till I am sure of it,” I replied, so deeply distressed by this fresh happening that I trembled all over. “Sure of it?” Molan cried with insolent bitterness. “Sure of it? What do you want? Perhaps you would need to see them in the same bed? Then you would still doubt! But I am not a member of the sect of the pure-minded, I believe that Mademoiselle Favier is the mistress of M. Tournade, and I repeat that in that case the scene which she made this evening is one of the most miserable actions of which I have ever heard tell. I will be revenged. So good-bye.”