At these words the vidame fidgeted on his chair. Auguste rang the
bell.

"Justin is not in the house!" cried the vidame, in a hasty manner that
told much.

"Well, then," said Auguste, excitedly, "the other servants must know
where he is; send a man on horseback to fetch him. Your valet is in
Paris, isn't he? He can be found."

The vidame was visibly distressed.

"Justin can't come, my dear boy," said the old man; "he is dead. I
wanted to conceal the accident from you, but--"

"Dead!" cried Monsieur de Maulincour,--"dead! When and how?"

"Last night. He had been supping with some old friends, and, I dare
say, was drunk; his friends--no doubt they were drunk, too--left him
lying in the street, and a heavy vehicle ran over him."

"The convict did not miss _him_; at the first stroke he killed," said
Auguste. "He has had less luck with me; it has taken four blows to put
me out of the way."

Jules was gloomy and thoughtful.

"Am I to know nothing, then?" he cried, after a long pause. "Your
valet seems to have been justly punished. Did he not exceed your