THE following day ThÉophraste and Marceline returned to the quiet life of the Villa Flots-d’Azure. ThÉophraste had not mentioned a word of the discovery, and his wife refrained from questioning him. Marceline knew nothing yet of the terrible discovery. ThÉophraste’s face was full of consternation, and it was evident to Marceline that he had terrible things on his mind.

Adolphe was to join them in a few days; two days passed very quietly in the villa. Marceline attended to her household duties, and ThÉophraste silently prepared his fishing tackle, as he had promised Adolphe a few days’ fishing in the Marne. On the third day, ThÉophraste, who had passed a good night, showed a less agitated countenance, and began to smile and was cheered at the prospect of Adolphe’s coming. M. Lecamus arrived before noon, and they both received him with delight.

Taking their places at lunch their conversation turned on angling, but nothing was said of the mysterious proceedings of the week before. After lunch they prepared for their fishing expedition; ThÉophraste took care of the lines, the rods and the bait, and Adolphe took the nets.

Going down to the water’s edge, ThÉophraste turned to Adolphe and said, “Tell me, have you any news? While we are fishing I will listen to you. I have prepared a lot of sport, but I don’t think we will do very much to-day, if you have important news for me.”

Adolphe replied, “There is some good, and some bad news. But I must tell you that there is more bad than good. No doubt many stories have been invented about you, but the real truth is not entirely pleasant.”

“Are you well informed, and is your information authentic?”

“I have been to the very fountain-head, I have seen the authentic documents. I am going to tell you what I know. If I am mistaken, correct me.”

ThÉophraste threw his half-prepared bait into the water, and said, “Go on. I must have a full explanation.”

“First,” said Adolphe, “you were born in the month of October, 1693. You were called Louis Dominique Cartouche.”

“But it is needless to call me Cartouche, no one need know that. Call me L’Enfant. I like it much better and no one will understand.”

“Yes,” insisted Adolphe, “but you know that your name is Cartouche. It is not an assumed name. It is said that you studied hard in Clermont College. That you were the schoolfellow of Voltaire, and there is a legend that while you learned to read, in the course of time, thanks to the gypsies who taught you reading, you were never able to write.”

“Well, that’s funny,” cried ThÉophraste, “for if I never learned to write, how could I have drawn up the document in the dungeon of the Conciergerie?”

“At the time of your trial, you declared that you did not know how to write. You signed your depositions with a cross and you have never written a line to show who it was.”

“But,” ThÉophraste said, “it was never necessary to write. In my position I should have dreaded to compromise myself. But the document is there.”

“Evidently. Let us return to your eleventh year. One day you were in the Saint Laurent Faire, with some comrades, when you fell in with a band of gypsies. The gypsies carried you away. They stole you. They taught you the play of the cudgel, the sword, to shoot a pistol, to jump, and to rob the pockets of the bourgeoisie without being discovered. At your twelfth year you were an adept at this, and without an equal for bringing back handkerchiefs, snuff boxes, and watches. The band of gypsies found themselves at Rouen, when little Louis Dominique fell ill. He was taken to a hospital in Rouen, and it was there that an uncle discovered him. He recognized him, and swore to restore him to his parents.”

Here ThÉophraste interrupted with a word as to his uncle, and Lecamus becoming impatient, begged him to cease his continual interruptions, declaring it would take some time to tell the story of Cartouche if he would not listen to it silently.

“I would like to see you in my place,” said ThÉophraste.

Adolphe continued: “In a while Cartouche became the chief of a band of brigands. He commanded about three thousand men, had more than fifty lieutenants; it was their habit to dress exactly alike, in cinnamon-colored coats, and doublets of silk and amaranthine, showing a piece of black taffeta underneath the left eye. They brought against him more than one hundred and fifty personal assassinations, and put a price upon his head. He was tried and broken on the wheel.” “Upon hearing this ThÉophraste showed evident signs of alarm. He dropped his fishing tackle, losing it in the swift current of the river. He could not give his mind to fishing any more that day, and so they resolved to give up the attempt. They did not wait for sundown, to return to the Villa Flots-d’Azure. Swinging their meagre spoils lightly in their nets they sadly retraced their steps. Cartouche filled their minds, and their return journey was occupied in thoughts of this dual personality.