“I am an official of the government. I do not tell state secrets.”
“State secrets, indeed! Depend upon it, there are secrets in those letters which the state would like to know.”
“That is not my business. I only send the letters where they are posted, and refuse to tell amiable widows where they go.”
The hairdresser, forgetting his constant fear of disarranging his attire, threw back his head and laughed wildly.
“Trust a barber to laugh,” said the widow. Villeblanc sobered up and look sadly at Cuerrier; he could not bear to be called a barber.
“And you uphold her in this—a person who comes from no one knows where, and writes to no one knows who——”
“I know who she writes to——” The widow got furious.
“Yes, who she writes to—yes, of course you do—that person who comes out of her house without ever having gone into it, and who is visited by men who go in and never come out——”
“How do you know he went in?”
“I saw him.”