“You forgot Madame de Serizy’s dangerous condition, and that you had promised to save her.”

“Ask these rascals in what state they found me, monsieur,” said Jacques Collin, signing to the two constables to come in.

“Unconscious, monsieur, lying on the edge of the grave of the young man they were burying.”

“Save Madame de Serizy,” said the Comte de Bauvan, “and you shall have what you will.”

“I ask for nothing,” said Jacques Collin.  “I surrendered at discretion, and Monsieur de Granville must have received——­”

“All the letters, yes,” said the magistrate.  “But you promised to save Madame de Serizy’s reason.  Can you?  Was it not a vain boast?”

“I hope I can,” replied Jacques Collin modestly.

“Well, then, come with me,” said Comte Octave.

“No, monsieur; I will not be seen in the same carriage by your side—­I am still a convict.  It is my wish to serve the Law; I will not begin by discrediting it.  Go back to the Countess; I will be there soon after you.  Tell her Lucien’s best friend is coming to see her, the Abbe Carlos Herrera; the anticipation of my visit will make an impression on her and favor the cure.  You will forgive me for assuming once more the false part of a Spanish priest; it is to do so much good!”

“I shall find you there at about four o’clock,” said Monsieur de Granville, “for I have to wait on the King with the Keeper of the Seals.”

Jacques Collin went off to find his aunt, who was waiting for him on the Quai aux Fleurs.

“So you have given yourself up to the authorities?” said she.

“Yes.”

“It is a risky game.”

“No; I owed that poor Theodore his life, and he is reprieved.”

“And you?”

“I—­I shall be what I ought to be.  I shall always make our set shake in their shoes.—­But we must get to work.  Go and tell Paccard to be off as fast as he can go, and see that Europe does as I told her.”

“That is a trifle; I know how to deal with la Gonore,” said the terrible Jacqueline.  “I have not been wasting my time here among the gilliflowers.”

“Let Ginetta, the Corsican girl, be found by to-morrow,” Jacques Collin went on, smiling at his aunt.

“I shall want some clue.”

“You can get it through Manon la Blonde,” said Jacques.

“Then we meet this evening,” replied the aunt, “you are in such a deuce of a hurry.  Is there a fat job on?”

“I want to begin with a stroke that will beat everything that Bibi-Lupin has ever done.  I have spoken a few words to the brute who killed Lucien, and I live only for revenge!  Thanks to our positions, he and I shall be equally strong, equally protected.  It will take years to strike the blow, but the wretch shall have it straight in the heart.”

“He must have vowed a Roland for your Oliver,” said the aunt, “for he has taken charge of Peyrade’s daughter, the girl who was sold to Madame Nourrisson, you know.”