I
should only have to remember my mother's eyes when I return home
in the evening. Poor woman! although she's half blind, she sees
me--and if you wish to make her happy, you've only to tell her I'm
the handsomest and most amiable youth in Paris."
M. Fortunat could not refrain from rubbing his hands, so delighted
was he to see his idea so perfectly understood and so admirably
expressed. "Good!" he declared; "very good! That's intelligence,
if I am any judge. I have not been deceived in you, Victor."
Victor was on fire with curiosity. "What am I to do, monsieur?"
he asked eagerly.
"This: you must follow a woman whom I shall point out to you,
follow her everywhere without once losing sight of her, and so
skilfully as not to let her suspect it. You must watch her every
glance, and when her eyes tell you that she is looking at her son,
your task will be nearly over. You will then only have to follow
this son, and find out his name and address, what he does, and how
he lives. I don't know if I explain what I mean very clearly."
This doubt was awakened in M. Fortunat's mind by Chupin's
features, which were expressive of lively astonishment and
discontent. "Excuse me, monsieur," he said, at last, "I do not
understand at all."
"It's very simple, however. The lady in question has a son about
twenty. I know it--I'm sure of it. But she denies it; she
conceals the fact, and he doesn't even know her.
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