"Well, and what the devil have you been doing with yourself? Last
Sunday, at the races, I looked for you everywhere, and not a
vestige of Wilkie was to be found. However, you were wise not to
go. I am three hundred louis out of pocket. I staked everything
on Domingo, the Marquis de Valorsay's horse. I thought I was sure
to win--yes, sure. Well, Domingo came in third. Can you
understand that? If every one didn't know that Valorsay was a
millionaire, it might be supposed there had been some foul play--
yes, upon my word--that he had bet against his own horse, and
forbidden his jockey to win the race." But the speaker did not
really believe this, so he continued, more gayly: "Fortunately, I
shall retrieve my losses to-morrow, at Vincennes. Shall we see
you there?"
"Probably."
"Then good-by, until to-morrow."
"Until to-morrow."
Thereupon they shook hands, and each departed on his way.
Chupin had not lost a word of this conversation. "Valorsay a
millionaire!" he said to himself. "That's good! Ah, well! now I
know my little gamecock's name, and I also know that he goes to
the races. Wilkie that must be an English name; I like the name
of d'Argeles better. But where the devil is he going now?"
M. Wilkie had simply paused to replenish his cigar-case at the
tobacco office of the Grand Hotel; and, after lighting a cigar, he
came out again, and walked up the boulevard in the direction of
the Faubourg Montmartre.
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