“There are some letters for you, M. Folgat.  They have carried them up stairs to your room.”

He found two letters,—­one from Mrs. Goudar, the other from the agent who had been sent to England.

The former was of no importance.  Mrs. Goudar only asked him to send a note, which she enclosed, to her husband.

The second, on the other hand, was of the very greatest interest.  The agent wrote,—­

“Not without great difficulties, and especially not without a heavy outlay of money, I have at length discovered Sir Francis Burnett’s brother in London, the former cashier of the house of Gilmour and Benson.

“Our Sir Francis is not dead.  He was sent by his father to Madras, to attend to very important financial matters, and is expected back by the next mail steamer.  We shall be informed of his arrival on the very day on which he lands.

“I have had less trouble in discovering Suky Wood’s family.  They are people very well off, who keep a sailor’s tavern in Folkstone.  They had news from their daughter about three weeks ago; but, although they profess to be very much attached to her, they could not tell me accurately where she was just now.  All they know is, that she has gone to Jersey to act as barmaid in a public house.

“But that is enough for me.  The island is not very large; and I know it quite well, having once before followed a notary public there, who had run off with the money of his clients.  You may consider Suky as safe.

“When you receive this letter, I shall be on my way to Jersey.

“Send me money there to the Golden Apple Hotel, where I propose to lodge.  Life is amazingly dear in London; and I have very little left of the sum you gave me on parting.”

Thus, in this direction, at least, every thing was going well.

Quite elated by this first success, M. Folgat put a thousand-franc note into an envelope, directed it as desired, and sent it at once to the post-office.  Then he asked M. de Chandore to lend him his carriage, and went out to Boiscoran.

He wanted to see Michael, the tenant’s son, who had been so prompt in finding Cocoleu, and in bringing him into town.  He found him, fortunately, just coming home, bringing in a cart loaded with straw; and, taking him aside, he asked him,—­

“Will you render M. de Boiscoran a great service?”

“What must I do?” replied the young man in a tone of voice which said, better than all protestations could have done, that he was ready to do any thing.

“Do you know Trumence?”

“The former basket-weaver of Tremblade?”

“Exactly.”

“Upon my word, don’t I know him?  He has stolen apples enough from me, the scamp!  But I don’t blame him so much, after all; for he is a good fellow, in spite of that.”

“He was in prison at Sauveterre.”

“Yes, I know; he had broken down a gate near Brechy and”—­