"Journel himself? You think he is above it, _hé_? You think Journel
would not do such a thing? Ha! your simplicity, Honorine--your
simplicity is incredible. It is miraculous. I tell you, I have known
the Journels, from father to son, for--yes, for seventy-five years.
Was not his grandfather the overseer on my father's plantation? I was
not five years old when I began to know the Journels. And this fellow,
I know him better than he knows himself. I know him as well as God
knows him. I have made up my mind. I have made it up carefully that
the first time that letter fails on the first of the month I
shall have Journel arrested as a thief. I shall land him in the
penitentiary. What! You think I shall submit to have my mail tampered
with by a Journel? Their contents appropriated? What! You think there
was no coincidence in Journel's offering me his post-office box just
the month--just the month, before those letters began to arrive? You
think he did not have some inkling of them? Mark my words, Honorine,
he did--by some of his subterranean methods. And all these five years
he has been arranging his plans--that is all. He was arranging theft,
which no doubt has been consummated to-day. Oh, I have regretted it--I
assure you I have regretted it, that I did not promptly reject his
proposition, that, in fact, I ever had anything to do with the
fellow."

It was almost invariably, so regularly do events run in this
world,--it was almost invariably that the negro messenger made his
appearance at this point. For five years the General had perhaps
not been interrupted as many times, either above or below the last
sentence. The mail, or rather the letter, was opened, and the usual
amount--three ten-dollar bills--was carefully extracted and counted.
And as if he scented the bills, even as the General said he did,
within ten minutes after their delivery, Journel made his appearance