The banker smiled bitterly.
“M. Bertomy might have spared us both this painful meeting. I have nothing to say to him, and of course he can have nothing to tell me.”
This was a formal dismissal; and M. Verduret, understanding it thus, bowed to M. Fauvel, and left the room, accompanied by Prosper, who had not opened his lips.
They had reached the street before Prosper recovered the use of his tongue.
“I hope you are satisfied, monsieur,” he said, in a gloomy tone; “you exacted this painful step, and I could only acquiesce. Have I gained anything by adding this humiliation to the others which I have suffered?”
“You have not, but I have,” replied M. Verduret. “I could find no way of gaining access to M. Fauvel, save through you; and now I have found out what I wanted to know. I am convinced that M. Fauvel had nothing to do with the robbery.”
“Oh, monsieur!” objected Prosper, “innocence can be feigned.”
“Certainly, but not to this extent. And this is not all. I wished to find out if M. Fauvel would be accessible to certain suspicions. I am now confident that he is.”
Prosper and his companion had stopped to talk more at their ease, near the corner of the Rue Lafitte, in the middle of a large space which had lately been cleared by pulling down an old house.
M. Verduret seemed to be anxious, and was constantly looking around as if he expected someone.