Théophraste made them understand, in his sleep, that the imbecile referred to was Cartouche. M. Eliphaste turned toward them, saying, “I expect that word to make him quit the present. Now, madam, the time has come. I am going to tempt God.” And then he spoke in a commanding voice, in a voice that it seemed impossible not to obey. “Cartouche,” said he, extending his hand above the strapped bed with a commanding majesty, “Cartouche, where wast thou on the night of the first of April, 1721, at ten o’clock?” “On the night of April first, 1721, at ten o’clock, I struck two light blows on the door, with the intention of making them open the door of the Tavern Reine Margot. I never should have believed that I could have reached the ironmonger’s shop so easily. But I had killed the horse of the French guardsman, and I had thrown those who had followed him into the Seine. At the Reine Margot I found Paleton, Gatelard, and Guenal Noire. La Belle Laittiere was with them. I related the story to them while emptying a bottle of wine. I had confidence in them, and I told them that I suspected Va de Bon Cœur—and perhaps Marie Antoinette—of having whispered something to the spies. They cried out, but I cried out louder than they. I announced to them that I had decided to deal summarily with all who gave me cause to suspect them. I became very angry, and La Belle Laittiere told me that I was no longer bearable. Was it my fault? Every one had betrayed me. I could not sleep two nights consecutively in one place. Where, then, were the days when all Paris was with me? Where, then, was the day of my wedding to Marie Antoinette, when we sang the air of ‘Tout joli belle menniere, Tout joli moulin’? Where was now my uncle Taton? Shut up in a castle. And his son? Killed by me because he was going to denounce me. I had done it quickly. A pistol shot, and his corpse was under a pile of rubbish. Then I was sure of his silence. I killed the robber Pepin, and the police officer Huron. I did not ask anything, only that they leave me alone to police Paris for the security of everybody. My great council,” this he murmured to himself, “did not pardon me for having Jacques le Febrere executed. I am no longer bearable, and that is because I wish to live. After that which had come to pass,” continued Théophraste in his hypnotic sleep, “and the miraculous way in which I escaped in spite of treachery and the precautions taken by the spies, I did not conceal from Gate-lard or from Guenal Noire that I had decided to leave them. “I soon left them and opened the door of the Reine Margot. Not a soul in the ironmonger’s shop. I was saved. I did not even stop Magdelen, whom I passed while walking along the walls of the cemetery, where I was going to sleep that night. Truth was, I was going to pass the night like a robber in my hole in the Rue Amelot. It was pouring with rain.”