Andrea examined it carefully, to ascertain if the letter had been opened, or if any indiscreet eyes had seen its contents, but it was so carefully folded, no one could have read it, and the seal was perfect.
"Very well," said he. "Poor man! he is a worthy creature." He left the porter to ponder on these words, not knowing which most to admire, the master or the servant.
"Take out the horses quickly, and come up to me," said Andrea to his groom. In two seconds the young man had reached his room and burned Caderousse's letter. The servant entered just as he had finished.
"You are about my height, Peter," said he.
"I have that honor, your excellency."
"You had a new livery yesterday?"
"Yes, sir."
"I have an engagement with a pretty little girl for this evening, and do not wish to be known; lend me your livery till to-morrow; I may sleep, perhaps, at an inn."
Peter obeyed. Five minutes after, Andrea left the hotel, completely disguised, took a cabriolet, and ordered the driver to take him to the Cheval Rouge, at Picpus. The next morning he left that inn as he had left the Hôtel des Princes, without being noticed, walked down the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, along the Boulevard to Rue Ménilmontant, and, stopping at the door of the third house on the left, looked for some one of whom to make inquiry in the porter's absence.
"For whom are you looking, my fine fellow?" asked the fruiteress on the opposite side.
"M. Pailletin, if you please, my good woman," replied Andrea.
"A retired baker?" asked the fruiteress.
"Exactly."
"He lives at the end of the yard, on the left, on the third story."
Andrea went as she directed him, and on the third floor he found a hare's paw, which, by the hasty ringing of the bell, it was evident he pulled with considerable ill-temper. A moment after, Caderousse's face appeared at the grating in the door.
"Ah! you are punctual," said he, as he unbolted the door.
"Confound you and your punctuality!" said Andrea, throwing himself into a chair in a manner which implied that he would rather have flung it at the head of his host.
"Come, come, my little fellow, don't be angry. See, I have thought about you—look at the good breakfast we are going to have; nothing but what you are fond of."
Andrea, indeed, inhaled the scent of something cooking, which was not unwelcome to him, hungry as he was; it was that mixture of fat
