“Nothing could be more alarming than that allusion to the cashier,” said the fat man, repeating the words after Prosper. “The question, ‘Was it also he who stole Mme. Fauvel’s diamonds?’ is simply fearful. What could be more exasperating than the sarcastic advice, ‘In your place, I would not have any public scandal, but would watch my wife?’ The effect of your letter must have been terrible,” he added thoughtfully as he stood with folded arms looking at poor Prosper. “M. Fauvel is quick-tempered, is he not?”
“He has a violent temper, when aroused.”
“Then the mischief is not irreparable.”
“What! do you suppose—”
“I think that an impulsive man is afraid of himself, and seldom carries out his first angry intentions. That is our chance of salvation. If, upon the receipt of your bomb-shell, M. Fauvel, unable to restrain himself, rushed into his wife’s room, and cried, ‘Where are your diamonds?’ Mme. Fauvel will confess all; and then good-by to our hopes.”
“Why would this be disastrous?”
“Because, the moment Mme. Fauvel opens her lips to her husband, our birds will take flight.”
Prosper had never thought of this eventuality.
“Then, again,” continued M. Verduret, “it would deeply distress another person.”
“Anyone whom I know?”