His face at once betrayed his great annoyance.
"You were there, were you?" he said.
The bone-setter smiled obsequiously.
"Yes, Monsieur, quite at your service."
"You have been listening, eh?"
"Oh, as to that, I was waiting to see if Madame Courtois had any
commands for me."
A sudden reflection occurred to M. Plantat; the expression of his
eye changed. He winked at M. Lecoq to call his attention, and
addressing the bone-setter in a milder tone, said: "Come here,
Master Robelot."
Lecoq had read the man at a glance. Robelot was a small,
insignificant-looking man, but really of herculean strength. His
hair, cut short behind, fell over his large, intelligent forehead.
His eyes shone with the fire of covetousness, and expressed, when
he forgot to guard them, a cynical boldness. A sly smile was always
playing about his thin lips, beneath which there was no beard. A
little way off, with his slight figure and his beardless face, he
looked like a Paris gamin--one of those little wretches who are
the essence of all corruption, whose imagination is more soiled
than the gutters where they search for lost pennies.
Robelot advanced several steps, smiling and bowing.
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