"He saved a child--his own?" asked Monsieur de Boisguilbault, who had not seemed to hear Emile's words, his manner was so indifferent and preoccupied. "No, somebody's else; he didn't know whose. I asked the same question, and was told that the child's parents were almost strangers to him." "And he saved him?" the marquis repeated, after a moment's silence, during which another imaginary world seemed to have passed before his brain. "He is very lucky." The marquis's voice and accent were even more repellent than his bearing and features. He spoke slowly; the words seemed to come from his mouth with an extreme effort, a dull monotone, without the slightest inflection. "Evidently he never goes out and sees no one because he knows that he is dead," said Emile to himself, still thinking of his German legend. "Now, monsieur le marquis, will you kindly tell me why you wished my father to send you an envoy? I am here to receive your instructions." "Because"--replied Monsieur de Boisguilbault, a little disturbed at having to make a direct answer and trying to collect his ideas, "because--I'll tell you. This man you speak of would not like to go to jail, and we must prevent it. Tell your father to prevent it." "That doesn't concern my father at all, monsieur le marquis; he certainly will not invoke the rigor of the law against poor Jean, but he cannot prevent the law's taking its course." "I beg your pardon," replied the marquis, "he can speak or send someone to speak to the local authorities. He has influence or should have." "But why shouldn't you do this yourself, monsieur le marquis? You have been in the province longer than my father, and if you believe in influence, you must rate your privileges in that regard higher than ours." "The privileges of birth are no longer fashionable," replied Monsieur de Boisguilbault, with no indication of vexation or regret. "Your father, being a manufacturer, is sure to be more highly considered than I am. And then nobody knows me now, I am too old; I don't even know whom to apply to; I have forgotten all about it. If Monsieur Cardonnet will take the trouble to speak, that man will not be prosecuted for vagabondage." After this long speech, Monsieur de Boisguilbault heaved a great sigh as if he were thoroughly exhausted. But Emile had already noticed his strange habit of sighing, which was not precisely the choking of a victim of asthma nor an expression of mental pain. It was more like a nervous trick, which did not change the impassibility of his face but which was so frequent that it acted upon the nerves of his auditor and eventually produced a most painful impression upon Emile.