"Jeer at me, my good M. Gevrol," he replied, "mock me without pity; you
are right, I deserve it all."
"Ah, come now," said the chief, "have you then performed some new
masterpiece, you impetuous old fellow?"
Old Tabaret shook his head sadly.
"I have delivered up an innocent man," he said, "and justice will not
restore him his freedom."
Gevrol was delighted, and rubbed his hands until he almost wore away the
skin.
"This is fine," he sang out, "this is capital. To bring criminals to
justice is of no account at all. But to free the innocent, by Jove! that
is the last touch of art. Tirauclair, you are an immense wonder; and I
bow before you."
And at the same time, he raised his hat ironically.
"Don't crush me," replied the old fellow. "As you know, in spite of my
grey hairs, I am young in the profession. Because chance served me three
or four times, I became foolishly proud. I have learned too late that
I am not all that I had thought myself; I am but an apprentice, and
success has turned my head; while you, M. Gevrol, you are the master of
all of us. Instead of laughing, pray help me, aid me with your
advice and your experience.
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