"Madame," he cried, "he is a serpent whom we have warmed in our
bosoms; there's no place in his contorted little body for a soul!"
Modeste put the letter for her father into the pocket of her apron,
supposing it to be that for Canalis, and came downstairs with the
letter for her lover in her hand, to see Dumay before he started for
Paris.
"What has happened to my Black Dwarf? why are you talking so loud!"
she said, appearing at the door.
"Mademoiselle, Butscha has gone to Paris, and you, no doubt, know why,
--to carry on that affair of the little architect with the sulphur
waistcoat, who, unluckily for the hunchback's lies, has never been
here."
Modeste was struck dumb; feeling sure that the dwarf had departed on a
mission of inquiry as to her poet's morals, she turned pale, and sat
down.
"I'm going after him; I shall find him," continued Dumay. "Is that the
letter for your father, mademoiselle?" he added, holding out his hand.
"I will take it to the Mongenods. God grant the colonel and I may not
pass each other on the road."
Modeste gave him the letter. Dumay looked mechanically at the address.
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