d the Duke most graciously, "I postpone my thanks----"

Corentin and the lawyer, taking this as a dismissal, bowed, and
withdrew.

At the hour when Peyrade was questioning Corentin's servant, Monsieur
de Saint-Denis and Derville, seated in the Bordeaux coach, were studying
each other in silence as they drove out of Paris.

Next morning, between Orleans and Tours, Derville, being bored, began
to converse, and Corentin condescended to amuse him, but keeping his
distance; he left him to believe that he was in the diplomatic service,
and was hoping to become Consul-General by the good offices of the Duc
de Grandlieu. Two days after leaving Paris, Corentin and Derville got
out at Mansle, to the great surprise of the lawyer, who thought he was
going to Angouleme.

"In this little town," said Corentin, "we can get the most positive
information as regards Madame Sechard."

"Do you know her then?" asked Derville, astonished to find Corentin so
well informed.

"I made the conductor talk, finding he was a native of Angouleme. He
tells me that Madame Sechard lives at Marsac, and Marsac is but a league
away from Mansle. I thought we should be at greater advantage here than
at Angouleme for verifying the facts."

"And besides," thought Derville, "as Monsieur le Duc said, I act merely
as the witness to the inquiries made by this confidential agent----"

The inn at Mansle, _la Belle Etoile_, had for its landlord one of those
fat and burly men whom we fear we may find no more on our return; but
who still, ten years after, are seen standing at their door with as much
superfluous flesh as ever, in the same linen cap, the same apron,
with the same knife, the same oiled hair, the same triple chin,--all
stereotyped by novel-writers from the immortal Cervantes to the immortal
Walter Scott. Are they not all boastful of their cookery? have they not
all "whatever you please to order"? and do not all end by giving you the
same hectic chicken, and vegetables cooked with rank butter? They
all boast of their fine wines, and all make you drink the wine of the
country.

But Corentin, from his earliest youth, had known the art of getting out
of an innkeeper things more essential to himself than doubtful dishes
and apocryphal wines. So he gave himself out as a man easy to please,
and willing to leave himself in the hands of the best cook in Mansle, as
he told the fat man.

"There is no difficulty about being the best--I am the only one," sai