“Things are getting hot, then.”
“Hot! They are burning! The place is too warm to hold me any longer; upon my soul, I can’t stand it!”
M. Verduret occupied himself in repairing his toilet, become disarranged by lying down.
When he had finished, he threw himself in an easy-chair, and said to Joseph Dubois, who remained respectfully standing, cap in hand, like a soldier awaiting orders:
“Explain yourself, my boy, and quickly, if you please; no circumlocution.”
“It is just this, patron. I don’t know what your plans are, or what line you are taking now; but I can just tell you this: that you will have to wind up the affair pretty quickly.”
“That is your opinion, Master Joseph?”
“Yes, patron, because if you wait any longer, good-by to our covey: you will certainly find an empty cage, and the birds flown. You smile? Yes, I know you are clever, and can accomplish anything; but they are cunning blades, and as slippery as eels. They know that they are watched, too.”
“The devil they do!” cried M. Verduret. “Who has been committing blunders?”
“Oh! nobody has done anything wrong,” replied Joseph. “You know, patron, that they suspected something long ago. They gave you a proof of it, the night of the fancy ball; that ugly cut on your arm was the beginning. Ever since, they have had one eye open all the time. They had begun to feel easier, when all of a sudden, yesterday, ma foi, they began to smell a rat!”