"Round a pretty woman's neck, you mean," said Mlle Michonneau,
hastily. "Just go away, M. Poiret. It is a woman's duty to nurse you
men when you are ill. Besides, for all the good you are doing, you may
as well take yourself off," she added. "Mme. Vauquer and I will take
great care of dear M. Vautrin.
Poiret went out on tiptoe without a murmur, like a dog kicked out of
the room by his master.
Rastignac had gone out for the sake of physical exertion; he wanted to
breathe the air, he felt stifled. Yesterday evening he had meant to
prevent the murder arranged for half-past eight that morning. What had
happened? What ought he to do now? He trembled to think that he
himself might be implicated. Vautrin's coolness still further dismayed
him.
"Yet, how if Vautrin should die without saying a word?" Rastignac
asked himself.
He hurried along the alleys of the Luxembourg Gardens as if the hounds
of justice were after him, and he already heard the baying of the
pack.
"Well?" shouted Bianchon, "you have seen the _Pilote_?"
The _Pilote_ was a Radical sheet, edited by M. Tissot. It came out
several hours later than the morning papers, and was meant for the
benefit of country subscribers; for it brought the morning news into
provincial districts twenty-four hours sooner than the ordinary local
journals.
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