He held in his hand a soiled and crumpled note of hand, affixed by a pin to a huissier’s protest, thus proving conclusively that it had been dishonored. M. Fortunat waved these strips of paper triumphantly, and with a satisfied air exclaimed: “It is here that I must strike; it is here--if Casimir hasn’t deceived me--that I shall find the indispensable information I need.” He was in such haste that he did not wait to put his portfolio in order. He threw it with the papers it had contained into the drawer of his desk again, and, approaching Chupin, he asked, “It was you, was it not, Victor, who obtained that information respecting the solvency of the Vantrassons, husband and wife, who let out furnished rooms?” “Yes, monsieur, and I gave you the answer: nothing to hope for----” “I know; but that doesn’t matter. Do you remember their address?” “Perfectly. They are now living on the Asnieres Road, beyond the fortifications, on the right hand side.” “What is the number?” Chupin hesitated, reflected for a moment, and then began to scratch his head furiously, as he was in the habit of doing whenever his memory failed him and he wished to recall it to duty. “I’m not sure whether the number is eighteen or forty-six,” he said, at last; “that is----” “Never mind,” interrupted M. Fortunat. “If I sent you to the house could you find it?” “Oh--yes, m’sieur--at once--with my eyes shut. I can see the place perfectly--a rickety old barrack. There is a tract of unoccupied land on one side, and a kitchen-garden in the rear.” “Very well; you shall accompany me there.” Chupin seemed astonished by this strange proposal. “What, m’sieur,” said he, “do you think of going there at this time of night?” “Why not? Shall we find the establishment closed?” “No; certainly not. Vantrasson doesn’t merely keep furnished rooms; he’s a grocer, and sells liquor too. His place is open until eleven o’clock at least. But if you are going there to present a bill, it’s perhaps a little late. If I were in your place, m’sieur, I should wait till to-morrow. It’s raining, and the streets are deserted. It’s an out-of-the-way place too; and in such cases, a man has been known to settle his account with whatever came handiest--with a cudgel, or a bullet, for instance.” “Are you afraid?” This question seemed so utterly absurd to Chupin that he was not in the least offended by it; his only answer was a disdainful shrug of the shoulders. “Then we will go,” remarked M. Fortunat. “While I’m getting ready, go and hire a cab, and see that you get a good horse.” Chupin was off in an instant, tearing down the staircase like a tempest. There was a cab-stand only a few steps from the house, but he preferred to run to the jobmaster’s stables in the Rue Feydeau. “Cab, sir!” shouted several men, as they saw him approaching.