“Oh!” declared Madame Trepof, “it is ugly, but it is rare! These boxes are not exported at all; you can buy them only where they are made. Dimitri has six others just like this in his pocket. We got them so as to exchange with other collectors. You understand? At none o’clock this morning we were at the factory. You see we did not waste our time.”
“So I certainly perceive, Madame,” I replied, bitterly; “but I have lost mine.”
I then saw that she was a naturally good-hearted woman. All her merriment vanished.
“Poor Monsieur Bonnard! poor Monsieur Bonnard!” she murmured.
And, taking my hand in hers, she added:
“Tell me about your troubles.”
I told her about them. My story was long; but she was evidently touched by it, for she asked me quite a number of circumstantial questions, which I took for proof of her friendly interest. She wanted to know the exact title of the manuscript, its shape, its appearance, and its age; she asked me for the address of Signor Rafael Polizzi.
And I gave it to her; thus doing (O destiny!) precisely what the abominable Polizzi had told me to do.
It is sometimes difficult to check oneself. I recommenced my plaints and my imprecations. But this time Madame Trepof only burst out laughing.
“Why do you laugh?” I asked her.