"
On hearing these words, Lecoq became so frightfully pale that Father
Absinthe, fearing he was going to faint, raised his arms to prevent
his falling. A chair stood close by, however, and on this Lecoq allowed
himself to drop. "Joseph Couturier," he faltered, evidently unconscious
of what he was saying. "Joseph Couturier! an escaped convict!"
The superintendent certainly did not understand Lecoq's agitation any
better than Father Absinthe's discomfited air.
"You have reason to be proud of your work; your success will make a
sensation this morning," he repeated. "You have captured a famous prize.
I can see Gevrol's nose now when he hears the news. Only yesterday
he was boasting that he alone was capable of securing this dangerous
rascal."
After such an irreparable failure as that which had overtaken Lecoq,
the unintended irony of these compliments was bitter in the extreme.
The superintendent's words of praise fell on his ears like so many blows
from a sledge hammer.
"You must be mistaken," he eventually remarked, rising from his seat and
summoning all his energy to his assistance. "That man is not Couturier."
"Oh, I'm not mistaken; you may be quite sure of that. He fully answers
the description appended to the circular ordering his capture, and even
the little finger of his left hand is lacking, as is mentioned."
"Ah! that's a proof indeed!" groaned Father Absinthe.
"It is indeed. And I know another one more conclusive still.
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