"Ah, I find it so hard to realise that you actually committed that breach of etiquette," murmured Dieppe, reproachfully.
"And that perhaps—I say only perhaps—you have made free with the contents. For it seems you 've got rid of Paul de Roustache. Well, I will not complain—"
"Ah?" said the Captain with a movement of interest.
"But if I lose my money, I must have my money's worth."
"That 's certainly what one prefers when it's possible," smiled the Captain, indulgently.
"To put it briefly—"
"As briefly as you can, pray," cried Dieppe; but the candle burnt steadily still, and brevity was the last thing that he desired.
"Give me your papers and you may keep the portfolio."
The Captain's indignation at this proposal was extreme; indeed, it led him to sit upright again, to fix his eyes on the candle, and to talk right on end for hard on five minutes—in fact as long as he could find words—on the subject of his honour as a gentleman, as a soldier, as a Frenchman, as a friend, as a confidential agent, and as a loyal servant. Guillaume did not interrupt him, but listened with a smile of genuine amusement.
"Excellent!" he observed, as the Captain sank back exhausted. "A most excellent preamble for your explanation of the loss, my dear Captain. And you will add at the end that, seeing all this, it cannot be doubted that you surrendered these papers only under absolute compulsion, and not the least in the world for reasons connected with my portfolio."