"Quite alone: the woman in one cell, and the man in the other. This
has been a remarkably quiet night, for Shrove Sunday! Quite surprising
indeed! It is true your hunt was interrupted."

"You had a drunken man here, however."

"No--yes--that's true--this morning just at daybreak. A poor devil, who
is under a great obligation to Gevrol."

The involuntary irony of this remark did not escape Lecoq. "Yes, under a
great obligation, indeed!" he said with a derisive laugh.

"You may laugh as much as you like," retorted the keeper, "but such is
really the case; if it hadn't been for Gevrol the man would certainly
have been run over."

"And what has become of him?"

The keeper shrugged his shoulders. "You ask me too much," he responded.
He was a worthy fellow who had been spending the night at a friend's
house, and on coming out into the open air, the wine flew into his head.
He told us all about it when he got sober, half an hour afterward. I
never saw a man so vexed as he was. He wept, and stammered: "The father
of a family, and at my age too! Oh! it is shameful! What shall I say to
my wife? What will the children think?"

"Did he talk much about his wife?"

"He talked about nothing else. He mentioned her name--Eudosia Leocadie,