A curtain was lifted and Pierre appeared. He remained silent and confused at the entrance of the room, his courage had deserted him.
“Well,” said Jeanne, with assumed stiffness, “whatever is the matter, my friend?”
“The matter is, my dear Jeanne,” began Pierre, “that—”
But the explanation did not seem so very easy to give, for he stopped and could not go on.
“That?” repeated Madame Cayrol.
“I beg your pardon,” resumed Pierre. “I am greatly embarrassed. In coming here I obeyed a sudden impulse. I did not think of the manner in which I should tell you what I have to say, and I see that I shall have to run a great risk of offending you.”
Jeanne assumed a haughty air.
“Well, but, my dear friend, if what you have to say is so difficult, don’t say it.”
“Impossible!” retorted Pierre. “My silence would cause irreparable mischief. In mercy, Jeanne, make my task easier! Meet me half way! You have projects for to-night which are known. Danger threatens you. Take care!”
Jeanne shuddered. But controlling herself, she answered, laughing nervously: