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?"

"Well, I know nearly all about it--that's honest, ain't it? About
a week ago Hector wrote to me to meet him at Melun; I went, found
him, and we breakfasted together. Then he told me that he was very
much annoyed about his cook's marriage; for one of his servants was
deeply in love with her, and might go and raise a rumpus at the
w