"You see that it's no fault of mine; that imbecile of a Biscarros has ruined everything."
Two fierce gleams shot from Nanon's eyes, and pierced Biscarros in his corner. The sweat stood in great drops on the poor wretch's brow, and he would have given the six louis he had in his pocket to be standing in front of his oven with the handle of a saucepan in his hand.
Meanwhile the duke had taken the letter and opened it, and was reading. As he read, Nanon stood beside him, paler and colder than a statue, feeling as if no part of her were alive save her heart.
"What does all this mean?" queried the duke.
Nanon knew by that question that the letter did not compromise her.
"Read it aloud, and I can explain it perhaps," said she.
"'Dear Nanon,'" the duke began.
He turned to his companion, who became more composed with every second, and bore his gaze with admirable self-possession.
"'Dear Nanon,'" the duke resumed:—