s astonishing! But where can I find this driver?"

"I can't say, just at this moment; he's on duty now. But as he belongs
to this division he will be back sooner or later, so you had better
wait."

"I will wait then; only as I've had no dinner, I'll go out and get a
mouthful to eat. I can promise you that M. Fortunat will send you back
your note cancelled."

Chupin was really very hungry, and so he rushed off to a little
eating-house which he had remarked on his way to the office. There
for eighteen sous he dined, or rather supped, like a prince; and as he
subsequently treated himself to a cup of coffee and a glass of brandy,
as a reward for his toil, some little time had elapsed when he returned
to the office. However, No. 2140 had not returned in his absence, so he
stationed himself at the door to wait for it.

His patience was severely tried, for it was past midnight when Chupin
saw the long-looked-for vehicle enter the courtyard. The driver slowly
descended from his box and then went into the cashier's office to pay
over his day's earnings, and hand in his report. Then he came out again
evidently bound for home. As the servant-woman had said, he was a stout,
jovial-faced man, and he did not hesitate to accept a glass of "no
matter what" in a wine-shop that was still open. Whether he believed the
story that Chupin told to excuse his questions or not, at all events he
answered them very readily. He perfectly remembered having been sent
to the Rue d'Ulm, and spoke of his "fare" as a respectable-looking old
lady, enumerated the number of her trunks, boxes, and packages, and even
described their form. He had taken her to the railway station, stopping
at the entrance in the Rue d'Amsterdam; and when the porters inquired,
as usual, "Where is this baggage to go?" the old lady had answered, "To
London."

Chupin felt decidedly crestfallen on hearing this. He had fancied that
Madame Ferailleur had merely announced her intention of driving to the
Havre railway station so as to set possible spies on the wrong track,
and he would have willingly wagered anything, that after going a short
distance she had given the cabman different instructions. Not so,
however, he had taken her straight to the station. Was Mademoiselle
Marguerite deceived then? Had Pascal really fled from his enemies
without an attempt at resistance? Such a course seemed impossible on his
part. Thinking over all this, Chupin slept but little that night, and