🎶 Chapter Two You know, Alfred told me that I studied painting when my brave uncle died and left us, my sister and me, each 30,000 pounds of rent. I bowed down in adhesion to what Alfred said to me and respect for the shadow of the one who had done such a beautiful action by taking a vacation from this world. From then on, the narrator continued, I no longer delivered myself to painting than to a delusion. I decided to travel, to see Scotland, the Alps, Italy. I took money arrangements with my notary and I went to the Havre, wanting to start my races through England. At the Havre, I learned that Dosa and Jadin were on the other side of the Seine, in a small village called Trouville. I did not want to leave France without shaking hands with two colleagues from the workshop. I took the package, two hours later I was in Honfleur and the next morning in Trouville. Unfortunately, they had left since the day before. You know this little port with its fishing population, it is one of the most picturesque in Normandy. I stayed there for a few days, which I used to visit the surroundings, then in the evening, sitting at the corner of the fire of my respectable auntie, Madame Osere, I listened to the story of a strange adventure, in which for three months the departments of the Calvados, the Loire and the Manche were the theater. It was a flight with an address or a wonderful audace. Travelers had disappeared between the village of Buisson and that of Salenel. We had found the postillons, the banded eyes, and attached to a tree, the post chair on the main road and the horses resting quietly in the nearby prairie. One evening, when the general receiver of camp gave soup to a young man from Paris, named Horace de Beuzeval and two of his friends who had come to spend with him the season of hunting in the castle of Bursy, distant from Trouville from about fifteen places, we had forced his car and took out a sum of 70,000 francs. Finally, the Perceptor of Pont-l'Evêque, who was going to make a deposit of 12,000 francs had been murdered and his body, thrown into the gutter and pushed back by this little river on its bank, had only revealed the murder, whose authors had remained perfectly unknown, despite the activity of the Paris police, who, having begun to worry about his brigandage, had sent in his departments some of his most skilled subjects. These events that occasionally lit one of these fires that we ignored the cause and that at that time the newspapers of the opposition attributed to the government, threw throughout Normandy an unknown terror, until then in this good country, very renowned for its lawyers and its pleas, but nothing pitoresque to the place of brigands and assassins. As for me, I admit that I did