“Ah, forgetful old man that I am! Why did I not think of it? But you will pardon me, I am sure. I am so completely upset. Anthony, what can you let us have?”
“The housekeeper has eggs, potted fowl, ham”—
“Whatever can be made ready first will be the best,” said the young lawyer.
“In a quarter of an hour the table shall be set,” replied the servant.
He hurried away, while M. de Chandore invited M. Folgat into the sitting-room. The poor grandfather summoned all his energy to keep up appearances.
“This fact about the gun will save him, won’t it?” he asked.
“Perhaps so,” replied the famous advocate.
And they were silent,—the grandfather thinking of the grief of his grandchild, and cursing the day on which he had opened his house to Jacques, and with him to such heart-rending anguish; the lawyer arranging in his mind the facts he had learned, and preparing the questions he was going to ask. They were both so fully absorbed by their thoughts, that they started when Anthony reappeared, and said,—
“Gentlemen, breakfast is ready!”
The table had been set in the dining-room; and, when the two gentlemen had taken their seats, old Anthony placed himself, his napkin over his arm, behind them; but M. de Chandore called him, saying,—