"It will be difficult now to trace my hand in the scheme!" he said to
himself, frowning heavily, as he considered various uncomfortable
contingencies arising out of his conversation with his late visitor.
"If the thunderbolt falls, it will crush Carl Perousse--not me. Yes! It
means ruin for him--ruin and disgrace--but for me--well! I shall find
it as easy to damn Perousse as it has been to support him, for he
cannot involve me without adding tenfold to his own disaster! I think
it will be safe enough for me--possibly not so safe for the Premier.
However, I will write to him to-morrow, just to let him know I received
his messenger."
In the meantime, while David Jost was thus cogitating unpleasant and
even dangerous possibilities, which were perhaps on the eve of
occurring to himself and certain of his associates in politics and
journalism, Pasquin Leroy was hurrying along the city streets under the
light of a clear, though pallid and waning moon. Few wanderers were
abroad; the police walked their various rounds, and one or two
miserable women passed him, like flying ghosts in the thin air of
night. His mind was in a turmoil of agitation; and the thoughts that
were tossing rapidly through his brain one upon the other, were such as
he had never known before. He had fathomed a depth of rascality and
deception, which but a short month ago, he could scarcely have believed
capable of existence.
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