"The count would have denied all. He would have asked what right I had to interfere in his affairs."
"But the girl?"
M. Plantat sighed heavily.
"Though I detest mixing up with what does not concern me, I did try one day to talk with her. With infinite precaution and delicacy, and without letting her see that I knew all, I tried to show her the abyss near which she was drawing."
"And what did she reply?"
"Nothing. She laughed and joked, as women who have a secret which they wish to conceal, do. Besides, I could not get a quarter of an hour alone with her, and it was necessary to act, I knew—for I was her best friend—before committing this imprudence of speaking to her. Not a day passed that she did not come to my garden and cull my rarest flowers—and I would not, look you, give one of my flowers to the Pope himself. She had instituted me her florist in ordinary. For her sake I collected my briars of the Cape—"
He was talking on so wide of his subject that M. Lecoq could not repress a roguish smile. The old man was about to proceed when he heard a noise in the hall, and looking up he observed Robelot for the first time. His face at once betrayed his great annoyance.
"You were there, were you?" he said.
The bone-setter smiled obsequiously.
"Yes, Monsieur, quite at your service."