“What can they be doing?” Mme. Fauvel would say; “can they have ceased to persecute us?”
“Yes: what can they be doing?” Madeleine would murmur.
Louis and Raoul gave no signs of life, because, like expert hunters, they were silently hiding, and watching for a favorable opportunity of pouncing upon their victims.
Never losing sight of Prosper for a day, Raoul had exhausted every effort of his fertile mind to compromise his honor, to insnare him into some inextricable entanglement. But, as he had foreseen, the cashier’s indifference offered little hope of success.
Clameran began to grow impatient at this delay, and had fully determined to bring matters to a crisis himself, when one morning, about three o’clock, he was aroused by Raoul.
He knew that some event of great importance must have happened, to make his nephew come to his house at this hour of the morning.
“What is the matter?” he anxiously inquired.
“Perhaps nothing; perhaps everything. I have just left Prosper.”
“Well?”
“I had him, Mme. Gypsy, and three other friends to dine with me. After dinner, I made up a game of baccarat, but Prosper took no interest in it, although he was quite tipsy.”