Their presence explained the
quarrel, the testimony of Widow Chupin, the dying declaration of the
pretended soldier. The behavior of the murderer was also explained. He
had remained to cover the retreat of the two women; he had sacrificed
himself in order to save them, an act of gallantry so common in the
French character, that any scoundrel of the barrieres might have
performed it.
Still, the strange allusion to the battle of Waterloo remained
unexplained. But what did that prove now? Nothing, simply nothing.
However, who could say how low an unworthy passion might cause a man
even of birth and breeding to descend? And the carnival afforded an
opportunity for the parties to disguise themselves.
But while Lecoq was turning and twisting all these probabilities in his
mind, Father Absinthe became impatient. "Are we going to remain here
until doomsday?" he asked. "Are we to pause just at the moment when our
search has been productive of such brilliant results?"
"Brilliant results!" These words stung the young man as deeply as the
keenest irony could have done. "Leave me alone," he replied gruffly;
"and, above all, don't walk about the garden, as by doing so, you'll
damage any footprints."
His companion swore a little; but soon became silent in his turn. He was
constrained to submit to the irresistible ascendency of superior will
and intelligence.
Lecoq was engaged in following out his course of reasoning. "The
murderer, leaving the ball at the Rainbow, a dancing-house not far from
here, near the fortifications, came to this wine-shop, accompanied by
two women.
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