After questioning Norine at length, he guessed that
Alexandre must have learnt her address through La Couteau, though he
could not say precisely how this had come about. At last, after a long
month of discreet researches, conversations with Madame Menoux, Celeste,
and La Couteau herself, he was able in some measure to explain things.
The alert had certainly come from the inquiry intrusted to the
nurse-agent at Rougemont, that visit which she had made to the hamlet of
Saint-Pierre in quest of information respecting the lad who was supposed
to be in apprenticeship with Montoir the wheelwright. She had talked too
much, said too much, particularly to the other apprentice, that Richard,
another foundling, and one of such bad instincts, too, that seven months
later he had taken flight, like Alexandre, after purloining some money
from his master. Then years elapsed, and all trace of them was lost. But
later on, most assuredly they had met one another on the Paris pavement,
in such wise that the big carroty lad had told the little dark fellow the
whole story how his relatives had caused a search to be made for him, and
perhaps, too, who his mother was, the whole interspersed with
tittle-tattle and ridiculous inventions.
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