Gilbert, fearful now that he was too forward, retreated. Neither the movement nor its cause escaped Rousseau, who saw that his
employee trembled to be seen.
"No, you don't, young man!" he said, grasping him by the wrist; "there is some plot afoot, for they are pointing out your garret. Stand here, pray."
He placed him before the window, in the uncovered glare.
Gilbert would have had to struggle with his idol, and respect restrained him from thus being free.
"You know those women, and they know you," continued Rosseau, "or, why do you shrink from showing yourself?"
"Monsieur Rousseau, you have had secrets in your life. Pity for mine!"
"Traitor!" cried the writer; "I know your sort of secret. You are the tool of my enemies, the Grimms and Holbachs. They taught you a part to captivate my benevolence, and, sneaking into my house, you are betraying me. Threefold fool that I am, stupid lover of nature, to think I was helping one of my kind, and to nourish a spy!"
"A spy?" repeated the other in revolt.
"When are you to deliver me to my murderers, O Judas?" demanded Rousseau, draping himself in Therese's dress, which he had mechanically kept in hand, and looking droll when he fancied he was sublime with sorrow.