“No, monsieur; there is no lady at this hour. An appointment? Alas! such is always the least considered of their many engagements.”
As he spoke, Miguel came in. The two eyed one another blankly after the first shock. At length Nicanor spoke: the door between the closet and the café opened a little.
“You have discovered, then? Go away, my poor friend. This is, indeed, the worst occasion for our reconciliation.”
“I did not come to seek you, Nicanor. I came to meet Mademoiselle Suzanne alone, by appointment.”
“And I, too, Miguel. I fear you must have overheard and misconstrued her meaning. It was I she invited to this place.”
“No, Nicanor; it was I.”
“She has not come, at least. We must decide, at once and for ever, before she comes.”
“I know what you mean, Nicanor. This, indeed, is the only end to a madness. Have you your pistol? I have mine.”
“And I have mine, Miguel. You will kill me, as you are the good shot. I don’t know why I ever carried one, except to entice you to show your skill at breaking the floating bottles. But that was before the trouble.”
“Dear Nicanor!”