suddenly recollecting a maxim that has been handed down from the time
of Cicero, he added in sententious tones: "Who holds the woman holds the
cause!"

Lecoq did not deign to reply. He was standing upon the threshold,
leaning against the framework of the door, his hand pressed to his
forehead, as motionless as a statue. The discovery he had just made, and
which so delighted Father Absinthe, filled him with consternation. It
was the death of his hopes, the annihilation of the ingenious structure
which his imagination had built upon the foundation of a single
sentence.

There was no longer any mystery--, so celebrity was not to be gained by
a brilliant stroke!

For the presence of two women in this vile den explained everything in
the most natural and commonplace fashion. Their presence explained the
quarrel, the testimony of Widow Chupin, the dying declaration of the
pretended soldier. The behavior of the murderer was also explained. He
had remained to cover the retreat of the two women; he had sacrificed
himself in order to save them, an act of gallantry so common in the
French character, that any scoundrel of the barrieres might have
performed it.

Still, the strange allusion to the battle of Waterloo remained
unexplained. But what did that prove now? Nothing, simply nothing.
However, who could say how low an unworthy passion might cause a man
even of birth and breeding to descend? And the carnival afforded an
opportunity for the parties to disguise themselves.