Then he took up the pieces of paper, and, going to the fire, which was still lighted of an evening, thrust them inside.
Louis Trudel saw the paper burning, and, glancing down, he noticed that one piece--the last--had slipped to the floor and was lying under the table.

He saw the pencil still in Charley's hand.

Forthwith his natural suspicion leaped up, and the cunning of the monomaniac was upon him.
With all his belief in le bon Dieu and the Church, Louis Trudel trusted no one.

One eye was ever open to distrust man, while the other was ever closed with blind belief in Heaven.
As Charley stooped to put wood in the fire, the tailor thrust a foot forward and pushed the piece of paper further under the table.
That night the tailor crept down into the shop, felt for the paper in the dark, found it, and carried it away to his room.

All kinds of thoughts had raged through his diseased mind.