Kabanata Kabanata 6 · The clock of the St. Lazare terminus was striking eleven as old Tabaret,

after shaking hands with Noel, left his house, still bewildered by what

he had just heard. Obliged to restrain himself at the time, he now fully

appreciated his liberty of action. It was with an unsteady gait that

he took his first steps in the street, like the toper, who, after being

shut up in a warm room, suddenly goes out into the open air. He was

beaming with pleasure, but at the same time felt rather giddy, from that

rapid succession of unexpected revelations, which, so he thought, had

suddenly placed him in possession of the truth.

Notwithstanding his haste to arrive at M. Daburon’s he did not take a

cab. He felt the necessity of walking. He was one of those who require

exercise to see things clearly. When he moved about his ideas fitted and

classified themselves in his brain, like grains of wheat when shaken in

a bushel. Without hastening his pace, he reached the Rue de la Chaussee

d’Antin, crossed the Boulevard with its resplendent cafes, and turned to

the Rue Richelieu.

He walked along, unconscious of external objects, tripping and stumbling

over the inequalities of the sidewalk, or slipping on the greasy

pavement. If he followed the proper road, it was a purely mechanical

impulse that guided him. His mind was wandering at random through the

field of probabilities, and following in the darkness the mysterious

thread, the almost imperceptible end of which he had seized at La

Jonchere.

Like all persons labouring under strong emotion without knowing it, he

talked aloud, little thinking into what indiscreet ears his exclamations

and disjointed phrases might fall. At every step, we meet in Paris

people babbling to themselves, and unconsciously confiding to the four

winds of heaven their dearest secrets, like cracked vases that allow

their contents to steal away. Often the passers-by mistake these

eccentric monologuists for lunatics. Sometimes the curious follow them,

and amuse themselves by receiving these strange confidences. It was

an indiscretion of this kind which told the ruin of Riscara the rich

banker. Lambreth, the assassin of the Rue de Venise, betrayed himself in

a similar manner.

“What luck!” exclaimed old Tabaret. “What an incredible piece of good

fortune! Gevrol may dispute it if he likes, but after all, chance is the

cleverest agent of the police. Who would have imagined such a history? I

was not, however, very far from the reality. I guessed there was a

child in the case. But who would have dreamed of a substitution?--an old

sensational effect, that playwrights no longer dare make use of. This

is a striking example of the danger of following preconceived ideas in

police investigation. We are affrighted at unlikelihood; and, as in this

case, the greatest unlikelihood often proves to be the truth. We

retire before the absurd, and it is the absurd that we should examine.

Everything is possible. I would not take a thousand crowns for what

I have learnt this evening. I shall kill two birds with one stone. I

deliver up the criminal; and I give Noel a hearty lift up to recover his

title and his fortune. There, at least; is one who deserves what he will

get. For once I shall not be sorry to see a lad get on, who has been

brought up in the school of adversity. But, pshaw! he will be like all

the rest. Prosperity will turn his brain. Already he begins to prate of

his ancestors... . Poor humanity he almost made me laugh... . But

it is mother Gerdy who surprises me most. A woman to whom I would have

given absolution without waiting to hear her confess. When I think that

I was on the point of proposing to her, ready to marry her! B-r-r-r!”

At this thought, the old fellow shivered. He saw himself married, and

all on a sudden, discovering the antecedents of Madame Tabaret, becoming

mixed up with a scandalous prosecution, compromised, and rendered

ridiculous.

“When I think,” he continued, “that my worthy Gevrol is running after

the man with the earrings! Run, my boy, run! Travel is a good thing for

youth. Won’t he be vexed? He will wish me dead. But I don’t care. If any

one wishes to do me an injury, M. Daburon will protect me. Ah! there is

one to whom I am going to do a good turn. I can see him now, opening his

eyes like saucers, when I say to him, ‘I have the rascal!’ He can boast

of owing me something. This investigation will bring him honour, or

justice is not justice. He will, at least, be made an officer of the

Legion of Honour. So much the better! I like him. If he is asleep, I am

going to give him an agreeable awaking. Won’t he just overpower me with

questions! He will want to know everything at once.”

Old Tabaret, who was now crossing the Pont des Saints-Peres, stopped

suddenly. “But the details!” said he. “By Jove! I have none. I only know

the bare facts.” He resumed his walk, and continued, “They are right

at the office, I am too enthusiastic; I jump at conclusions, as Gevrol

says. When I was with Noel, I should have cross-examined him, got hold

of a quantity of useful details; but I did not even think of doing so.

I drank in his words. I would have had him tell the story in a sentence.

All the same, it is but natural; when one is pursuing a stag, one does

not stop to shoot a blackbird. But I see very well now, I did not draw

him out enough. On the other hand, by questioning him more, I might have

awakened suspicions in Noel’s mind, and led him to discover that I am

working for the Rue de Jerusalem. To be sure, I do not blush for my

connection with the police, I am even vain of it; but at the same time,

I prefer that no one should know of it. People are so stupid, that

they detest the police, who protect them; I must be calm and on my best

behaviour, for here I am at the end of my journey.”