I should like to
know---- But what's the matter with you, Monsieur Fortunat? You
are as pale as death. Are you ill?"
To tell the truth, the agent did look as if he were indisposed.
"Thanks," he stammered. "I'm very well, only I just remembered
that some one is waiting for me."
"Who?"
"A client."
"Nonsense!" rejoined the valet; "make some excuse; let him go
about his business. Aren't you rich enough? Pour us out another
glass of wine; it will make you all right again."
M. Fortunat complied, but he performed the task so awkwardly, or,
rather, so skilfully, that he drew toward him, with his sleeve,
the letter which was lying beside M. Casimir's plate. "To your
health," said the valet. "To yours," replied M. Fortunat. And in
drawing back the arm he had extended to chink glasses with his
guest, he caused the letter to fall on his knees.
M. Casimir, who had not observed this successful manoeuvre, was
trying to light his cigar; and while vainly consuming a large
quantity of matches in the attempt, he exclaimed: "What you just
said, my friend, means that you would like to desert me. That
won't do, my dear fellow! You are going home with me; and I will
read you some love-letters from a woman of the world. Then we
will go to Mourloup's, and play a game of billiards. That's the
place to enjoy one's self. You'll see Joseph, of the Commarin
household, a splendid comedian."
"Very well; but first I must settle the score here.
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