“How could you be ignorant that there were many sympathizers with this movement in the garrison?” he said, angrily. “You might have known that this visitor, who concealed his face so carefully, was an accomplice who had been warned by Bavois, and who came to see if he needed a helping hand.” This was a plausible explanation, still it did not satisfy Martial. “It is very strange,” he thought, “that Monsieur d’Escorval has not even deigned to let me know he is in safety. The service which _I_ have rendered him deserves that acknowledgment, at least.” Such was his disquietude that he resolved to apply to Chupin, even though this traitor inspired him with extreme repugnance. But it was no longer easy to obtain the services of the old spy. Since he had received the price of Lacheneur’s blood--the twenty thousand francs which had so fascinated him--Chupin had deserted the house of the Duc de Sairmeuse. He had taken up his quarters in a small inn on the outskirts of the town; and he spent his days alone in a large room on the second floor. At night he barricaded the doors, and drank, drank, drank; and until daybreak they could hear him cursing and singing or struggling against imaginary enemies. Still he dared not disobey the order brought by a soldier, summoning him to the Hotel de Sairmeuse at once. “I wish to discover what has become of Baron d’Escorval,” said Martial. Chupin trembled, he who had formerly been bronze, and a fleeting color dyed his cheeks. “The Montaignac police are at your disposal,” he answered sulkily. “They, perhaps, can satisfy the curiosity of Monsieur le Marquis. I do not belong to the police.” Was he in earnest, or was he endeavoring to augment the value of his services by refusing them? Martial inclined to the latter opinion. “You shall have no reason to complain of my generosity,” said he. “I will pay you well.” But on hearing the word “pay,” which would have made his eyes gleam with delight a week before, Chupin flew into a furious passion. “So it was to tempt me again that you summoned me here!” he exclaimed. “You would do better to leave me quietly at my inn.” “What do you mean, fool?” But Chupin did not even hear this interruption, and, with increasing fury, he continued: “They told me that, by betraying Lacheneur, I should be doing my duty and serving the King. I betrayed him, and now I am treated as if I had committed the worst of crimes. Formerly, when I lived by stealing and poaching, they despised me, perhaps; but they did not shun me as they did the pestilence. They called me rascal, robber, and the like; but they would drink with me all the same. To-day I have twenty thousand francs, and I am treated as if I were a venomous beast. If I approach a man, he draws back; if I enter a room, those who are there leave it.” The recollection of the insults he had received made him more and more frantic with rage.