"It was you who brought M. Pascal Ferailleur
here."
"Alas! I know only too well that I ought to beg your forgiveness.
However, this affair will cost me dear myself. It has already
embroiled me in a difficulty with that fool of a Rochecote, with
whom I shall have to fight in less than a couple of hours."
"Where did you make his acquaintance?"
"Whose--Rochecote's?"
Madame d'Argeles's sempiternal smile had altogether disappeared.
"I am speaking seriously," said she, with a threatening ring in
her voice. "How did you happen to become acquainted with M.
Ferailleur?"
"That can be very easily explained. Seven or eight months ago I
had need of an advocate's services, and he was recommended to me.
He managed my case very cleverly, and we kept up the
acquaintance."
"What is his position?"
M. de Coralth's features wore an expression of exceeding weariness
as if he greatly longed to go to sleep. He had indeed installed
himself in a large arm-chair, in a semi-recumbent position. "Upon
my word, I don't know," he replied. "Pascal had always seemed to
be the most irreproachable man in the world--a man you might call
a philosopher! He lives in a retired part of the city, near the
Pantheon, with his mother, who is a widow, a very respectable
woman, always dressed in black. When she opened the door for me,
on the occasion of my first visit, I thought some old family
portrait had stepped down from its frame to receive me.
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