“Oh!” exclaimed la Peyrade, covering his face with his hands.

“I told you yesterday that you might perhaps have more upon your conscience than the Thuillier house.  But you were young; you had just come from your province, with that brutality, that frenzy of Southern blood in your veins which flings itself upon such an occasion.  Besides, your relationship became known to those who were preparing the ruin of this new Clarissa Harlowe, and I am willing to believe than an abler and better man than you might not have escaped the entanglement into which you fell.  Happily, Providence has granted that there is nothing absolutely irreparable in this horrible history.  The same poison, according to the use that is made of it, may give either death or health.”

“But, monsieur,” said la Peyrade, “shall I not always be to her an object of horror?”

“The doctor, monsieur,” said Katte, opening the door.

“How is Mademoiselle Lydie?” asked la Peyrade, eagerly.

“Very calm,” replied Katte.  “Just now, when we put her to bed,—­though she did not want to go, saying she felt well,—­I took her the bundle of linen, but she told me to take it away, and asked what I meant her to do with it.”

“You see,” said Corentin, grasping the Provencal’s hand, “you are the lance of Achilles.”

And he left the room with Katte to receive Doctor Bianchon.

Left alone, Theodose was a prey to thoughts which may perhaps be imagined.  After a while the door opened, and Bruneau, the old valet, ushered in Cerizet.  Seeing la Peyrade, the latter exclaimed:—­

“Ha! ha!  I knew it!  I knew you would end by seeing du Portail.  And the marriage,—­how does that come on?”

“What are you doing here?” asked la Peyrade.

“Something that concerns you; or rather, something that we must do together.  Du Portail, who is too busy to attend to business just now, has sent me in here to see you, and consult as to the best means of putting a spoke in Thuillier’s election; it seems that the government is determined to prevent his winning it.  Have you any ideas about it?”

“No,” replied la Peyrade; “and I don’t feel in the mood just now to be imaginative.”

“Well, here’s the situation,” said Cerizet.  “The government has another candidate, which it doesn’t yet produce, because the ministerial negotiations with him have been rather difficult.  During this time Thuillier’s chances have been making headway.  Minard, on whom they counted to create a diversion, sits, the stupid fool, in his corner; the seizure of that pamphlet has given your blockhead of a protege a certain perfume of popularity.  In short, the ministry are afraid he’ll be elected, and nothing could be more disagreeable to them.  Pompous imbeciles, like Thuillier, are horribly embarrassing in the Opposition; they are pitchers without handles; you can’t take hold of them anywhere.”

“Monsieur Cerizet,” said la Peyrade, beginning to assume a protecting tone, and wishing to discover his late associate’s place in Corentin’s confidence, “you seem to know a good deal about the secret intentions of the government; have you found your way to a certain desk in the rue de Grenelle?”