The crafty agent had chosen a little
room looking out on to the boulevard. Not that it was more
spacious or elegant than the others, but it was isolated, and this
was a very great advantage; for every one knows how unsafe and
perfidious are those so-called private rooms which are merely
separated from each other by a thin partition, scarcely thicker
than a sheet of paper. It was not long before M. Fortunat had
reason to congratulate himself on his foresight, for the breakfast
began with a dish of shrimps, and M. Casimir had not finished his
twelfth, washed down by a glass of chablis, before he declared
that he could see no impropriety in confiding certain things to a
friend.
The events of the morning had completely turned his head; and
gratified vanity and good cheer excited him to such a degree that
he discoursed with unwonted volubility. With total disregard of
prudence, he talked with inexcusable freedom of the Count de
Chalusse, and M. de Valorsay, and especially of his enemy,
Mademoiselle Marguerite. "For it is she," he exclaimed, rapping
on the table with his knife--"it is she who has taken the missing
millions! How she did it, no one will ever know, for she has not
an equal in craftiness; but it's she who has stolen them, I'm sure
of it! I would have taken my oath to that effect before the
magistrate, and I would have proved it, too, if he hadn't taken
her part because she's pretty--for she is devilishly pretty.
Pages:
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312