"
A few moments later they were on their way.
Papillon's features wore an air of self-satisfied pride as, sitting
erect on his box, he cracked his whip, and encouraged the nimble
Cocotte. The vehicle could not have got over the ground more rapidly if
its driver had been promised a hundred sous' gratuity.
Father Absinthe alone was sad. He had been forgiven by Lecoq, but he
could not forget that he, an old police agent, had been duped as easily
as if he had been some ignorant provincial. The thought was humiliating,
and then in addition he had been fool enough to reveal the secret plans
of the prosecution! He knew but too well that this act of folly had
doubled the difficulties of Lecoq's task.
The long drive in Father Papillon's cab was not a fruitless one. The
secretary of the commissary of police for the thirteenth arrondissement
informed Lecoq that Polyte Chupin's wife lived with her child, in the
suburbs, in the Rue de la Butte-aux-Cailles. He could not indicate
the precise number, but he described the house and gave them some
information concerning its occupants.
The Widow Chupin's daughter-in-law, a native of Auvergne, had been
bitterly punished for preferring a rakish Parisian ragamuffin to one of
the grimy charcoal-burners of the Puy de Dome. She was hardly more than
twelve years of age when she first came to Paris and obtained employment
in a large factory. After ten years' privation and constant toil, she
had managed to amass, sou by sou, the sum of three thousand francs.
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