“So sacred a cause confided to such imprudent hands!” murmured Protos, and he took the end of a rosary out of his pocket, then put it back again, then crossed himself feverishly; then turning to his companion:
“Pray tell me, sir, who asked you to concern yourself with this matter. Whose instructions are you obeying?”
“Forgive me, Monsieur l’abbé,” said Fleurissoire in some confusion, “I was given no instructions by anyone. I am just a poor distraught soul seeking on my own behalf.”
These humble words disarmed the curé; he held out his hand to Fleurissoire:
“I spoke to you roughly.... But such dangers surround us.” Then, after a short hesitation:
“Look here! Will you come with me to-morrow? We will go and see my friend together....” and raising his eyes to Heaven: “Yes, I dare to call him my friend,” he repeated in a heartfelt voice. “Let’s sit down for a minute on this bench. I will write him a line which we will both sign, to give him notice of our visit. If it is posted before six o’clock (eighteen o’clock, as they say here), he will get it to-morrow morning in time for him to be ready to receive us by twelve; we might even, I dare say, have lunch with him.”
They sat down. Protos took a note-book from his pocket, and under Amédée’s haggard eyes began on a virgin sheet as follows:
“Dear old cock....”
Then, seeing the other’s stupefaction, he smiled very calmly:
“So, it’s the Cardinal you’d have addressed if you’d had your way?”