The old man was very violent, yet his speech was simple, devoid of the pompous phrases of passion.  Anger lit up his eyes with a strange fire; he seemed young again—­he loved, and defended his beloved.

M. Lecoq was silent; his companion insisted.

“Answer me.”

“Who knows?”

“Why seek to mislead me?  Haven’t I as well as you had experience in these things?  If Tremorel is brought to trial, all is over with Laurence:  And I love her!  Yes, I dare to confess it to you, and let you see the depth of my grief, I love her now as I have never loved her.  She is dishonored, an object of contempt, perhaps still adores this wretch—­what matters it?  I love her a thousand times more than before her fall, for then I loved her without hope, while now—­”

He stopped, shocked at what he was going to say.  His eyes fell before M. Lecoq’s steady gaze, and he blushed for this shameful yet human hope that he had betrayed.

“You know all, now,” resumed he, in a calmer tone; “consent to aid me, won’t you?  Ah, if you only would, I should not think I had repaid you were I to give you half my fortune—­and I am rich—­”

M. Lecoq stopped him with a haughty gesture.

“Enough, Monsieur Plantat,” said he, in a bitter tone, “I can do a service to a person whom I esteem, love and pity with all my soul; but I cannot sell such a service.”

“Believe that I did not wish—­”

“Yes, yes, you wished to pay me.  Oh, don’t excuse yourself, don’t deny it.  There are professions, I know, in which manhood and integrity seem to count for nothing.  Why offer me money?  What reason have you for judging me so mean as to sell my favors?  You are like the rest, who can’t fancy what a man in my position is.  If I wanted to be rich—­richer than you—­I could be so in a fortnight.  Don’t you see that I hold in my hands the honor and lives of fifty people?  Do you think I tell all I know?  I have here,” added he, tapping his forehead, “twenty secrets that I could sell to-morrow, if I would, for a plump hundred thousand apiece.”

He was indignant, but beneath his anger a certain sad resignation might be perceived.  He had often to reject such offers.

“If you go and resist this prejudice established for ages, and say that a detective is honest and cannot be otherwise, that he is tenfold more honest than any merchant or notary, because he has tenfold the temptations, without the benefits of his honesty; if you say this, they’ll laugh in your face.  I could get together to-morrow, with impunity, without any risk, at least a million.  Who would mistrust it?  I have a conscience, it’s true; but a little consideration for these things would not be unpleasant.  When it would be so easy for me to divulge what I know of those who have been obliged to trust me, or things which I have surprised, there is perhaps a merit in holding my tongue.  And still, the first man who should come along to-morrow—­a defaulting banker, a ruined merchant, a notary who has gambled on change—­would feel himself compromised by walking up the boulevard with me!  A policeman—­fie!  But old Tabaret used to say to me, that the contempt of such people was only one form of fear.”