“What!” cried Fleurissoire, bending forward, “is it possible that even in this retreat and under this borrowed habit, your Eminence....”
“My son, call me plain Monsieur.”
“Forgive me! I thought in private....”
“Even when I am alone I tremble.”
“Can you not choose your servants?”
“They are chosen for me; and those two you have seen....”
“Ah! if I were to tell him,” said Protos, “that they have gone straight off to report our most trifling words to....”
“Is it possible that in the palace....”
“Hush! No big words! You’ll get us hanged. Don’t forget that it’s to the chaplain Ciro Bardolotti that you’re speaking.”