“We are not alone!” said Jacques Collin to Monsieur de Granville.

“No,” said the magistrate drily.

“And this gentleman is one of my oldest acquaintances, I believe,” replied the convict.

He went forward, recognizing Corentin, the real and confessed originator of Lucien’s overthrow.

Jacques Collin, whose face was of a brick-red hue, for a scarcely perceptible moment turned white, almost ashy; all his blood rushed to his heart, so furious and maddening was his longing to spring on this dangerous reptile and crush it; but he controlled the brutal impulse, suppressing it with the force that made him so formidable.  He put on a polite manner and the tone of obsequious civility which he had practised since assuming the garb of a priest of a superior Order, and he bowed to the little old man.

“Monsieur Corentin,” said he, “do I owe the pleasure of this meeting to chance, or am I so happy as to be the cause of your visit here?”

Monsieur de Granville’s astonishment was at its height, and he could not help staring at the two men who had thus come face to face.  Jacques Collin’s behavior and the tone in which he spoke denoted a crisis, and he was curious to know the meaning of it.  On being thus suddenly and miraculously recognized, Corentin drew himself up like a snake when you tread on its tail.

“Yes, it is I, my dear Abbe Carlos Herrera.”

“And are you here,” said Trompe-la-Mort, “to interfere between monsieur the public prosecutor and me?  Am I so happy as to be the object of one of those negotiations in which your talents shine so brightly?—­Here, Monsieur le Comte,” the convict went on, “not to waste time so precious as yours is, read these—­they are samples of my wares.”

And he held out to Monsieur de Granville three letters, which he took out of his breast-pocket.

“And while you are studying them, I will, with your permission, have a little talk with this gentleman.”

“You do me great honor,” said Corentin, who could not help giving a little shiver.

“You achieved a perfect success in our business,” said Jacques Collin.  “I was beaten,” he added lightly, in the tone of a gambler who has lost his money, “but you left some men on the field—­your victory cost you dear.”

“Yes,” said Corentin, taking up the jest, “you lost your queen, and I lost my two castles.”

“Oh!  Contenson was a mere pawn,” said Jacques Collin scornfully; “you may easily replace him.  You really are—­allow me to praise you to your face—­you are, on my word of honor, a magnificent man.”

“No, no, I bow to your superiority,” replied Corentin, assuming the air of a professional joker, as if he said, “If you mean humbug, by all means humbug!  I have everything at my command, while you are single-handed, so to speak.”

“Oh!  Oh!” said Jacques Collin.

“And you were very near winning the day!” said Corentin, noticing the exclamation.  “You are quite the most extraordinary man I ever met in my life, and I have seen many very extraordinary men, for those I have to work with me are all remarkable for daring and bold scheming.