“Eh bien!” pursued Rosine, approaching him quite near, while he put up his pencil. “And the box—did you get it? Monsieur went off like a coup-de-vent the other night; I had not time to ask him.”
“I found it: yes.”
“And who threw it, then?” continued Rosine, speaking quite freely the very words I should so much have wished to say, but had no address or courage to bring it out: how short some people make the road to a point which, for others, seems unattainable!
“That may be my secret,” rejoined Dr. John briefly, but with no sort of hauteur: he seemed quite to understand the Rosine or grisette character.
“Mais enfin,” continued she, nothing abashed, “monsieur knew it was thrown, since he came to seek it—how did he know?”
“I was attending a little patient in the college near,” said he, “and saw it dropped out of his chamber window, and so came to pick it up.”
How simple the whole explanation! The note had alluded to a physician as then examining “Gustave.”
“Ah ça!” pursued Rosine; “il n’y a donc rien là-dessous: pas de mystère, pas d’amourette, par exemple?”
“Pas plus que sur ma main,” responded the doctor, showing his palm.
“Quel dommage!” responded the grisette: “et moi—à qui tout cela commençait à donner des idées.”