Once he almost decided to give the letter to Mademoiselle
Marguerite, but he resisted this impulse, saying to himself: "Ah,
no; I'm not such a fool! It might be of use to her."
And M. Casimir had no desire to be of service to this unhappy
girl, who had always treated him with kindness. He hated her,
under the pretence that she was not in her proper place, that no
one knew who or what she was, and that it was absurd that he--he,
Casimir--should be compelled to receive orders from her. The
infamous slander which Mademoiselle Marguerite had overheard on
her way home from church, "There goes the rich Count de Chalusse's
mistress," was M. Casimir's work. He had sworn to be avenged on
this haughty creature; and no one can say what he might have
attempted, if it had not been for the intervention of the
magistrate. Imperatively called to order, M. Casimir consoled
himself by the thought that the magistrate had intrusted him with
eight thousand francs and the charge of the establishment.
Nothing could have pleased him better. First and foremost, it
afforded him a magnificent opportunity to display his authority
and act the master, and it also enabled him to carry out his
compact with Victor Chupin, and repair to the rendezvous which M.
Isidore Fortunat had appointed.
Leaving his comrades to watch the magistrate's operations, he sent
M. Bourigeau to report the count's death at the district mayor's
office, and then lighting a cigar he walked out of the house, and
strolled leisurely up the Rue de Courcelles.
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