"Ah! yes, Le Merquier. To be sure. Well, very soon. I will write you."
"Sure? You know it's very urgent."
"Yes, yes, I'll write you. Adieu."
And the fat man closed his door hastily as if he feared that his wife might appear.
Two days later the Nabob received a note from Hemerlingue, almost undecipherable with its little fly-tracks, complicated by abbreviations more or less commercial, behind which the ex-sutler concealed his absolute lack of orthography:
"Mon ch/anc/cam/—Je ne puis décid/t'accom/ chez Le Merq/. Trop d'aff/en ce mom/. D'aill/v/ ser/mieux seuls pour caus/. Vas-y carrém/. On t'att/. R/Cassette, tous les mat/de 8 à 10.
"A toi cor/
"Hem/."[6]
Below, by way of postscript, in a hand equally fine, but much clearer, was written very legibly:
"A religious picture, if possible."
What was he to think of that letter? Was it dictated by real friendliness or polite dissimulation? At all events, further hesitation was out of the question. The time was very short. So Jansoulet made a brave effort, for Le Merquier frightened him sadly, and went to his office one morning.