“I was following you in the street,” went on Protos; “but I wouldn’t speak to you for fear that we might be seen together.”
“How is it that I didn’t see you?” asked Fleurissoire. “I turned round a dozen times to make sure that I wasn’t being followed. Your conversation yesterday filled me with such terror that I see nothing but spies everywhere.”
“Yes, you show that you do only too clearly. Do you think it’s natural to turn round every twenty paces?”
“What? Really? Do I look ...?”
“Suspicious. Alas! That’s the word—suspicious. It’s the most compromising look you can have.”
“And yet I didn’t even discover that you were following me! On the other hand, I see something disquieting in the appearance of everyone I pass in the street. It alarms me if they look at me, and if they don’t look at me they seem as if they were pretending not to see me. I didn’t realise till to-day how rarely people’s presence in the street is justifiable. There aren’t more than four out of twelve whose occupation is obvious. Ah! You have given me food for thought, and no mistake! For a naturally credulous soul like mine suspicion is not easy; it’s an apprenticeship....”
“Pooh! You’ll get accustomed to it—quickly too; you’ll see; in a short time it’ll become a habit—a habit, alas! Which I’ve been obliged to adopt myself.... The main thing is to look cheerful all the time. Ah! A word to the wise! When you’re afraid you’re being followed, don’t turn round; just merely drop your stick or your umbrella (according to the weather) or your handkerchief, and as you pick it up—whatever it may be—while your head is down, look between your legs behind you, in a natural kind of way. I advise you to practise. But tell me. What do you think of me in this costume? I’m afraid the curé may show through in places.”
“Don’t worry,” said Fleurissoire candidly; “no one but I, I’m sure, could see what you are.” Then, looking him up and down benevolently, with his head a little on one side: “Evidently, when I examine you carefully, I can see a slight touch of the ecclesiastic behind your disguise—I can distinguish beneath the joviality of your voice the sickening anxiety which is tormenting us both. But what self-control you must have to let it show so little! As for me, I have still a great deal to learn, it’s clear. Your advice....”
“What curious sleeve-links you have!” interrupted Protos, amused at seeing Carola’s links on Fleurissoire.
“They’re a present,” he said, blushing.