“Do you think so?”
“However, it will not be the only one about the baron.”
Stenson gave no sign of assent, and his face remained unpassable. It was not easy to enter into conversation on delicate and confidential topics with a man whose ceremonious bearing seemed constantly to say, “Talk of your own business to me, not of mine.” But M. Goefle was urged on by the demon of curiosity, and would not allow himself to be repulsed.
“This Italian was talking to you rather rudely,” he said with abruptness.
“Do you think so?” replied the old man, with an air of indifference.
“I heard him while I was coming up stairs.”
Sten’s face showed some traces of emotion, but he asked no question betraying any uneasiness at what M. Goefle might have heard.
“He was threatening you,” added the latter.
“With what?” asked Stenson, shrugging his shoulders; “I am so old—”
“He threatened to reveal something to the baron, which it is greatly to your interest to keep concealed.”