M. Mifroid had, in the emotion of the moment, forgotten his original mission. He, however, had become very friendly with Théophraste in the catacombs, in spite of his excesses, and so, now that he was confronted with the necessity of arresting him, he said: “No, my friend, I shall not arrest you. My mission was to arrest Cartouche, but as Cartouche is no more, I cannot arrest him. Besides, you, M. Longuet, are my friend.” They then parted at the Buci Crossway. CHAPTER XXXVII An Old Friend |AFTER the footsteps of M. Mifroid had died away, M. Longuet remained standing at the street corner. A feeling of intense sadness and loneliness had come over him. He could not decide on whether to go back to his wife or to leave her altogether. But what would he do? If he left her he would have no home, and he would be an outcast from the world. He wandered for a long time through the streets, until he found himself opposite a door in the Rue Suger. He rang the bell and a man in a blouse and paper cap opened the door in response. “Good-evening, Ambrose,” said Théophraste. “Are you up at this hour? I would not have disturbed you, but many things have happened since I last saw you.” He had not seen him since the evening he came to ask his opinion on the watermark on the old paper. “Come in,” said Ambrose cordially. “Make yourself at home. How are all the folks at home?” “I will tell you all to-morrow. What I want now is some sound sleep. I am tired out.” Ambrose showed him his own bed, and soon Théophraste was stretched out and asleep. The following day Ambrose tried to get some news from Théophraste, who, however, observed an absolute silence, and would not be persuaded to say a word. He was like a dumb man. He passed his time for two days in examining words and papers, which filled his pockets, and in writing, but always without saying a word. One morning as he was preparing to go out, Ambrose asked him: “Where are you going?” “I am going to see M. Mifroid about the details of a trip we took together, and of which you will learn when I am dead.” “You are going to kill yourself?” “Oh, no. There is no use in doing that. I shall die soon enough. But I shall come to your house to die, my dear Ambrose. After going to see M. Mifroid, I shall go to see my wife.” “I did not dare to ask about her. Your sadness and silence made me fear some domestic trouble. It is all so inexplicable.” “She still loves me,” said Théophraste. Before letting him go, Ambrose made him change his underclothes, and lent him a clean shirt, as he said he could not see his wife decently in the rags he was in at present. “I will put it on,” said Théophraste, “for my own sake, as my wife won’t see it. I’m not going near her. I shall only see her from a distance. I only want to learn if she is happy.” CHAPTER XXXIX _The Final Tragedy_