tions, without the benefits of his honesty; if
you say this, they'll laugh in your face. I could get together
to-morrow, with impunity, without any risk, at least a million.
Who would mistrust it? I have a conscience, it's true; but a
little consideration for these things would not be unpleasant.
When it would be so easy for me to divulge what I know of those
who have been obliged to trust me, or things which I have surprised,
there is perhaps a merit in holding my tongue. And still, the
first man who should come along to-morrow--a defaulting banker,
a ruined merchant, a notary who has gambled on 'change--would
feel himself compromised by walking up the boulevard with me! A
policeman--fie! But old Tabaret used to say to me, that the
contempt of such people was only one form of fear."

M. Plantat was dismayed. How could he, a man of delicacy, prudence
and finesse, have committed such an awkward mistake? He had just
cruelly wounded this man, who was so well disposed toward him, and
he had everything to fear from his resentment.

"Far be it from me, dear friend," he commenced, "to intend the
offence you imagine. You have misunderstood an insignificant
phrase, which I let escape carelessly, and had no meaning at all."

M. Lecoq grew calmer.

"Perhaps so. You will forgive my being so susceptible, as I am
more exposed to insults than most people. Let's leave the subject,
which is a painful one, and return to Tremorel."

M. Plantat was just thinking whether he should dare to broach his
projects again, and he was singularly touched by M. Lecoq's
delicately resuming the subject of them.

"I have only to await your decision," said the justice of the peace.

"I will not conceal from you," resumed M. Lecoq, "that you are
asking a very difficult thing, and one which is contrary to my duty,
which commands me to search for Tremorel, to arrest him, and deliver
him up to justice. You ask me to protect him from the law--"

"In the name of an innocent creature whom you will thereby save."

"Once in my life I sacrificed my duty. I could not resist the
tears of a poor old mother, who clung to my knees and implored
pardon for her son. To-day I am going to exceed my right, and to
risk an attempt for which my conscience will perhaps reproach me.
I yield to your entreaty."

"Oh, my dear Lecoq, how grateful I am!" cried M. Plantat,
transported with joy.

But the detective remained grave, almost sad, and reflected.

"Don't let us