“Has he told you what he proposes to do?”
“Nearly so. But he has not authorized me to speak of it. Have patience; let him go to work, wait, and you will see if old Seignebos has a keen scent.”
Saying this with an air of sublime conceit, he took off his spectacles, and set to work wiping them industriously.
“Well, I will wait,” said the young advocate. “And, since that makes an end to my business here, I beg you will let me speak to you of another matter. M. de Boiscoran has charged me with a message to the Countess Claudieuse.”
“The deuce!”
“And to try to obtain from her the means for our discharge.”
“Do you expect she will do it?”
M. Folgat could hardly retain an impatient gesture.
“I have accepted the mission,” he said dryly, “and I mean to carry it out.”
“I understand, my dear sir. But you will not see the countess. The count is very ill. She does not leave his bedside, and does not even receive her most intimate friends.”