“Poitiers.”
“Your business?”
I hesitated.
“A private matter,” I said finally.
He frowned fiercely.
“The Republic has the right to know!” he said, in a formidable voice.
“This is not a thing which in any way concerns the Republic. It concerns only myself.”
“That is for me to judge. Besides, the business of the Republic is that of each of its citizens. Will you answer?”
I have,—I may as well confess at once what the reader must soon discover,—concealed under an exterior the most ordinary, a vein of obstinacy which has often impelled me to deeds the most foolish. It was so now. A hesitancy which had its origin in boyish shyness crystallized suddenly into sullen determination.
“Come,” repeated my questioner even more fiercely, “will you answer?”