The vague fears of Glady became definite at these words. They had walked down the Rue Ferou and reached the Place St. Sulpice.
“I think that at last I am going to find a cab,” he said, precipitately.
But this hope was not realized; there was not a single cab at the station, and he was forced to submit to the assault from Saniel.
And Saniel began:
“You are compelled to walk with me, and, frankly, I rejoice, because I wish to talk to you of a serious affair—on which depends my future.”
“This is a poor place for serious talk.”
“I do not find it so.”
“We would better appoint some other time.”
“Why should we, since chance has thrown us together here?”
Glady resigned himself to the inevitable, and was as polite as he could be in the circumstances.