He took off his spectacles as if to wipe them, but really to launch a furious look at Mme. Charman, who, not daring to resist, beat a hasty retreat. "I knew Tremorel well in other days," resumed the detective. "And--by the bye, have you heard any news of him lately?" "I saw him about a week ago." "Stop, though--haven't you heard of that horrible affair?" "No. What was it?" "Really, now, haven't you heard? Don't you read the papers? It was a dreadful thing, and has been the talk of all Paris for the past forty-eight hours." "Tell me about it, quick!" "You know that he married the widow of one of his friends. He was thought to be very happy at home; not at all; he has murdered his wife with a knife." Jenny grew pale under her paint. "Is it possible?" stammered she. She seemed much affected, but not very greatly surprised, which M. Lecoq did not fail to remark. "It is so possible," he resumed, "that he is at this moment in prison, will soon be tried, and without a doubt will be convicted." M. Plantat narrowly observed Jenny; he looked for an explosion of despair, screams, tears, at least a light nervous attack; he was mistaken. Jenny now detested Tremorel. Sometimes she felt the weight of her degradation, and she accused Hector of her present ignominy. She heartily hated him, though she smiled when she saw him, got as much money out of him as she could, and cursed him behind his back. Instead of bursting into tears, she therefore laughed aloud. "Well done for Tremorel," said she. "Why did he leave me? Good for her too." "Why so?" "What did she deceive her husband for? It was she who took Hector from me--she, a rich, married woman! But I've always said Hector was a poor wretch." "Frankly, that's my notion too. When a man acts as Tremorel has toward you, he's a villain." "It's so, isn't it?" "Parbleu! But I'm not surprised at his conduct. For his wife's murder is the least of his crimes; why, he tried to put it off upon somebody else!" "That doesn't surprise me." "He accused a poor devil as innocent as you or I, who might have been condemned to death if he hadn't been able to tell where he was on Wednesday night." M. Lecoq said this lightly, with intended deliberation, so as to watch the impression he produced on Jenny. "Do you know who the man was?" asked she in a tremulous voice. "The papers said it was a poor lad who was his gardener." "A little man, wasn't he, thin, very dark, with black hair?" "Just so." "And whose name was--wait now--was--Guespin." "Ah ha, you know him then?" Jenny hesitated. She was trembling very much, and evidently regretted that she had gone so far. "Bah!" said she at last. "I don't see why I shouldn't tell what I know. I'm an honest girl, if Tremorel is a rogue; and I don't want them to condemn a poor wretch who is innocent." "You know something about it, then?"