Since
he had received the price of Lacheneur's blood--the twenty thousand
francs which had so fascinated him--Chupin had deserted the house of the
Duc de Sairmeuse.
He had taken up his quarters in a small inn on the outskirts of the
town; and he spent his days alone in a large room on the second floor.
At night he barricaded the doors, and drank, drank, drank; and until
daybreak they could hear him cursing and singing or struggling against
imaginary enemies.
Still he dared not disobey the order brought by a soldier, summoning him
to the Hotel de Sairmeuse at once.
"I wish to discover what has become of Baron d'Escorval," said Martial.
Chupin trembled, he who had formerly been bronze, and a fleeting color
dyed his cheeks.
"The Montaignac police are at your disposal," he answered sulkily.
"They, perhaps, can satisfy the curiosity of Monsieur le Marquis. I do
not belong to the police."
Was he in earnest, or was he endeavoring to augment the value of his
services by refusing them? Martial inclined to the latter opinion.
"You shall have no reason to complain of my generosity," said he.
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