“I know, I know,” said M. Verduret; “go on; what next?”
“Then, patron, we had a scene; what a scene! He ended by seizing me by the throat, and shaking me like a plum-tree, saying he would shake me until I told him who I was, what I knew, and where I came from. As if I knew, myself! I was obliged to account for every minute of my time since I had been in his service. The devil was worse than a judge of instruction, in his questions. Then he sent for the hotel porter, who had charge of the front door, and questioned him closely, but in English, so that I could not understand. After a while, he cooled down, and when the boy was gone, presented me with twenty francs, saying, ‘I am sorry I was so sharp with you; you are too stupid to have been guilty of the offence.’”
“He said that, did he?”
“He used those very words to my face, patron.”
“And you think he meant what he said?”
“Certainly I do.”
The fat man smiled, and whistled a little tune expressive of contempt.
“If you think that,” he said, “Clameran was right in his estimate of your brilliancy.”
It was easy to see that Joseph Dubois was anxious to hear his patron’s grounds for considering him stupid, but dared not ask.
“I suppose I am stupid, if you think so,” said poor Fanferlot humbly. “Well, after he had done blustering about the letters, M. le marquis dressed, and went out. He did not want his carriage, but I saw him hire a cab at the hotel door. I thought he had perhaps disappeared forever; but I was mistaken. About five o’clock he returned as gay as a bull-finch. During his absence, I had telegraphed to you.”