“Was that the cause of your telegrams?”
“Of course. Now listen: yesterday morning when my master got up, about ten o’clock, he took it into his head to arrange the papers in his desk; which, by the way, has a disgusting lock which has given me a deal of trouble. Meanwhile, I pretended to be fixing the fire, so as to remain in the room to watch him. Patron, the man has an eye like a Yankee! At the first glance he saw, or rather divined, that his papers had been meddled with, he turned livid, and swore an oath; Lord, what an oath!”
“Never mind the oath; go on.”
“Well, how he discovered the little attentions I had devoted to his letters, I can’t imagine. You know how careful I am. I had put everything in perfect order; just as I found things I left them, when, lo and behold! my noble marquis picks up each paper, one at a time, turns it over, and smells it. I was just thinking I would offer him a magnifying-glass, when all of a sudden he sprang up, and with one kick sent his chair across the room, and flew at me with his eyes flashing like two pistols. ‘Somebody has been at my papers,’ he shrieked; ‘this letter has been photographed!’ B-r-r-r! I am not a coward, but I can tell you that my heart stood perfectly still; I saw myself as dead as Caesar, cut into mince-meat; and says I to myself, ‘Fanfer—excuse me—Dubois, my friend, you are lost, dead;’ and I thought of Mme. Alexandre.”
M. Verduret was buried in thought, and paid no attention to the worthy Joseph’s analysis of his personal sensations.
“What happened next?” said Verduret after a few minutes.
“Why, he was just as frightened as I was, patron. The rascal did not even dare to touch me. To be sure, I had taken the precaution to get out of his reach; we talked with a large table between us. While wondering what could have enabled him to discover the secret, I defended myself with virtuous indignation. I said:
“‘It cannot be; M. le marquis is mistaken. Who would dare touch his papers?’
“Bast! Instead of listening to me, he flourished an open letter, and said:
“‘This letter has been photographed! here is proof of it!’ and he pointed to a little yellow spot on the paper, shrieking out, ‘Look! Smell! Smell it, you devil! It is—’ I forget the name he called it, but some acid used by photographers.”