"I'm not sure whether the number is eighteen or forty-six," he
said, at last; "that is----"
"Never mind," interrupted M. Fortunat. "If I sent you to the
house could you find it?"
"Oh--yes, m'sieur--at once- with my eyes shut. I can see the
place perfectly--a rickety old barrack. There is a tract of
unoccupied land on one side, and a kitchen-garden in the rear."
"Very well; you shall accompany me there."
Chupin seemed astonished by this strange proposal. "What,
m'sieur," said he, "do you think of going there at this time of
night?"
"Why not? Shall we find the establishment closed?"
"No; certainly not. Vantrasson doesn't merely keep furnished
rooms; he's a grocer, and sells liquor too. His place is open
until eleven o'clock at least. But if you are going there to
present a bill, it's perhaps a little late. If I were in your
place, m'sieur, I should wait till to-morrow. It's raining, and
the streets are deserted. It's an out-of-the-way place too; and
in such cases, a man has been known to settle his account with
whatever came handiest--with a cudgel, or a bullet, for instance."
"Are you afraid?"
This question seemed so utterly absurd to Chupin that he was not
in the least offended by it; his only answer was a disdainful
shrug of the shoulders.
"Then we will go," remarked M. Fortunat. "While I'm getting
ready, go and hire a cab, and see that you get a good horse."
Chupin was off in an instant, tearing down the staircase like a
tempest.
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