The morning air was very chilly; nevertheless,
Chupin seated himself on a bench across the boulevard, at a spot
where he could watch the entrance of the restaurant without being
seen. He had just experienced one of those sudden shocks which so
disturb the mind, that one becomes insensible to outward
circumstances, whatever they may be. He had recognized in the so-
called Viscount de Coralth, the man whom he had hated above all
others in the world, or, rather, the only man whom he hated, for
his was not a bad heart. Impressionable to excess like a true
child of the faubourgs, he had the Parisian's strange mobility of
feeling. If his anger was kindled by a trifle, the merest nothing
usually sufficed to extinguish it. But matters were different
respecting this handsome viscount! God! how I hate him!" he
hissed through his set teeth. "God! how I hate him!"
For once, years before, as he had confessed to M. Fortunat, Chupin
had been guilty of a cowardly and abominable act, which had nearly
cost a man his life. And this crime, if it had been successful,
would have benefited the very fellow who concealed his sinful,
shameful past under the high-sounding name of Coralth. How was it
that Chupin had not recognized him at once? Because he had worked
for this fellow without knowing him, receiving his orders through
the miserable wretches who pandered to his vices. He had only
seen him personally once or twice, and had never spoken to him.
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