“To keep quiet, and not go out of the hotel.”
“Well.”
The consciousness of having done a foolish thing made Prosper appear like a frightened school-boy, accused by his teacher of playing truant.
“It was night, monsieur,” he hesitatingly said, “and, having a violent headache, I took a walk along the quay thinking there was no risk in my entering a cafe; there I picked up a paper, and read the dreadful announcement.”
“Did you not promise to trust everything to me?”
“You were absent, monsieur; and you yourself might have been surprised by an unexpected—”
“Only fools are ever surprised into committing a piece of folly,” cried M. Verduret impatiently. “To write an anonymous letter! Do you know to what you expose me? Breaking a sacred promise made to one of the few persons whom I highly esteem among my fellow-beings. I shall be looked upon as a liar, a cheat—I who—”
He abruptly stopped, as if afraid to trust himself to speak further; after calming down a little, he turned to Prosper, and said:
“The best thing we can do is to try and repair the harm you have done. When and where did you post this idiotic letter?”
“Yesterday evening, at the Rue du Cardinal Lemoine. It hardly reached the bottom of the box before I regretted having written it.”