Naturally I acquiesced fervently, for the last remark had been thrown to me for my good.
The Vicomte was looking for his spectacles.
"But, my friend," he said, "it is atrociously written. One cannot decipher such a scrawl as this."
In his impatience the Baron leant forward, and taking the paper from my patron, handed it to me.
"Here," he said, "the secretary—read it aloud."
Nothing loth, I read the communication in my loudest voice. The world holds that a loud voice indicates honesty or a lack of brain, and the Baron was essentially of that world. The anonymous letter was a warning that a general rising against the rule of the Emperor was imminent, and that in view of the probable state of anarchy that would ensue, wise men should not delay in transferring their wealth to more stable countries. Precisely—in a word—the information that it had been decided to withhold from the recipient of the letter.
THE BARON BLEW AND PUFFED LIKE A PRIZE-FIGHTER WHEN I HAD FINISHED THE PERUSAL. "THERE," HE CRIED; "I RECEIVE A LETTER LIKE THAT—I, THE BARON GIRAUD—OF THE HIGH FINANCE."
The Baron blew and puffed like a prize-fighter when I had finished the perusal.