There was a long silence.  Joseph was right in supposing that the crisis had come.  M. Verduret was arranging his plan of battle while waiting for the report of Nina—­now Palmyre, upon which depended his point of attack.

But Joseph Dubois began to grow restless and uneasy.

“What must I do now, patron?” he asked.

“Return to the hotel; probably your master had noticed your absence; but he will say nothing about it, so continue—­”

Here M. Verduret was interrupted by an exclamation from Prosper, who was standing near a window.

“What is the matter?” he inquired.

“There is Clameran!” cried Prosper, “over there.”

M. Verduret and Joseph ran to the window.

“Where is he?” said Joseph, “I don’t see him.”

“There, at the corner of the bridge, behind that orange-woman’s stall.”

Prosper was right.  It was the noble Marquis of Clameran, who, hid behind the stall, was watching for his servant to come out of the Archangel.

At first the quick-sighted Verduret had some doubts whether it was the marquis, who, being skilled in these hazardous expeditions, managed to conceal himself behind a pillar so as to elude detection.

But a moment came, when, elbowed by the pressing crowd, he was obliged to come out on the pavement in full view of the window.

“Now don’t you see I was right!” cried the cashier.

“Well,” said the amazed Joseph, “I am amazed!”

M. Verduret seemed not in the least surprised, but quietly said: 

“The game needs hunting.  Well, Joseph, my boy, do you still think that your noble master was duped by your acting injured innocence?”

“You assured me to the contrary, patron,” said Joseph in an humble tone; “and your opinion is more convincing than all the proofs in the world.”

“This pretended outburst of rage was premeditated on the part of your noble master.  Knowing that he is being tracked, he naturally wishes to discover who his adversaries are.  You can imagine how uncomfortable he must be at this uncertainty.  Perhaps he thinks his pursuers are some of his old accomplices, who, being starved, want a piece of his cake.  He will remain there until you come out:  then he will come in to find out who you are.”

“But, patron, I can go home without his seeing me.”

“Yes, I know.  You will climb the little wall separating the Archangel from the wine-merchant’s yard, and keep along the stationer’s area, until you reach the Rue de la Huchette.”

Poor Joseph looked as if he had just received a bucket of ice-water upon his head.

“Exactly the way I was going, patron,” he gasped out.  “I heard that you knew every plank and door of all the houses in Paris, and it certainly must be so.”

The fat man made no reply to Joseph’s admiring remarks.  He was thinking how he could catch Clameran.

As to the cashier, he listened wonderingly, watching these strangers, who seemed determined to reinstate him in public opinion, and punish his enemies, while he himself stood by powerless and bewildered.  What their motives for befriending him could be, he vainly tried to discover.