“A man of your age, Prosper, when he is blind, takes a guide, and does not undertake to point out the way to his leader.”
The half-bantering, half-commiserating tone of M. Verduret was not calculated to calm Prosper’s irritation.
“That being the case, monsieur,” he cried, “I will thank you for your past services, and decline them for the future, as I have no need of them. If I attempted to defend my honor and my life, it was because I hoped that Madeleine would be restored to me. I have been convinced to-day that all is at an end between us; I retire from the struggle, and care not what becomes of me now.”
Prosper was so decided, that M. Verduret seemed alarmed.
“You must be mad,” he finally said.
“No, unfortunately I am not. Madeleine has ceased to love me, and of what importance is anything else?”
His heart-broken tone aroused M. Verduret’s sympathy, and he said, in a kind, soothing tone:
“Then you suspect nothing? You did not fathom the meaning of what she said?”
“You were listening,” cried Prosper fiercely.
“I certainly was.”