M. Raindal regretted having shouted so loudly; he was now compelled to tell the truth.
“Oh! i Mme. Chambannes!” he replied, scratching his neck under his beard. “She has made an appointment for 9.30 for me to take her to the Louvre.... I have no time to waste, as you can see.”
He noticed a smile on the gir face and asked:
“What are you laughing at?”
“I am not laughing!” Thérèse replied, having recovered her composure.
M. Raindal was upset.
“Yes, you are laughing! You ca deny it.... Go on; speak.... What were you laughing at?”
“Do you really want to know, father?... Very well! It is because to-day is Monday, and the museum is closed....”
“I had forgotten.... Yet it is true enough!... But I cannot keep her waiting....” It suddenly dawned upon him that he was being suspected of telling an untruth. He held out the special delivery and said, “You can look for yourself! The day and the hour are set down.... ‘To-morrow morning at 9.30.’”
Haughtily, Thérèse brushed the paper aside.