ctions; and as I have no authority over you, and
friendship only gives me the right to advise, I must give way. If this
be your vocation, then follow it.

"My occupations are so numerous (I have to collect from different sources
this hundred thousand livres intended to defray the greater part of the
Buisson purchase) that I have not a moment in which to come and see you
this week. Spend the time in reflection, and write to me fully what you
think about this plan. If, like me, you feel any scruples, you must tell
them to your mother, who decidedly wants only to make you happy. Speak
to me freely, openly. It is arranged that I am to fetch you on the 11th
of this month, and escort you to Versailles, where Madame de Lamotte will
be waiting to receive you with the utmost tenderness. Adieu, dear boy;
write to me. Your father knows nothing as yet; his consent will be asked
after your decision."

The answer to this letter did not have to be waited for: it was such as
Derues expected; the lad accepted joyfully. The answer was, for the
murderer, an arranged plea of defence, a proof which, in a given case,
might link the present with the past.

On the morning of February 11th, Shrove Tuesday, he went to fetch the
young de Lamotte from his school, telling the master that he was desired
by the youth's mother to conduct him to Versailles. But, instead, he
took him to his own house, saying that he had a letter from Madame de
Lamotte asking them not to come till the next day; so they started on
Ash Wednesday, Edouard having breakfasted on chocolate. Arrived at
Versailles, they stopped at the Fleur-de-lys inn, but there the sickness
which the boy had complained of during the journey became very serious,
and the innkeeper, having young children, and believing that he
recognised symptoms of smallpox, which just then was ravaging Versailles,
refused to receive them, saying he had no vacant room. This might have
disconcerted anyone but Derues, but his audacity, activity, and resource
seemed to increase with each fresh obstacle. Leaving Edouard in a room
on the ground floor which had no communication with the rest of the inn,
he went at once to look for lodgings, and hastily explored the town.
After a fruitless search, he found at last, at the junction of the rue
Saint-Honore with that of the Orangerie, a cooper named Martin, who had a
furnished room to spare. This he hired at thirty sous per day for
himself and his nephew,