For this same Cazeau came to our house one night when
Martine was there, and told her he had instructions to take her to
Rome to see the Pope, and her child with her, for the purpose of
explaining the miracle in her own words, and giving the full life-
history of herself and the little one. And she was angry,--ah, she
can be very angry, poor Martine!--she has a shrill tongue and a wild
eye, and she said out flatly that she would not go, and furthermore
that she would not be caught in a priest's trap, or words to that
effect. And this clerk, Cazeau,--a miserable little white-livered
rascal, crawled away from my door in a rage with us all, and was
never seen again. The police have hunted high and low for trace of
him, but can find none. But I have my suspicions--"
"What are they?" enquired Midon,--"That he went out like Judas, and
hanged himself?"
"Truly he might have done that without loss or trouble to anyone!"
said Patoux tranquilly,--"But he thought too well of himself to be
quite so ready for a meeting with le bon Dieu! No!--I will tell you
what I think. There was a poor girl who used to roam about the
streets of our town, called Marguerite, she was once a sensible,
bright creature enough, the only daughter of old Valmond the
saddler, who died from a kick from his favourite horse one day, and
left his child all alone in the world.
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