"What has happened?"
"This has happened, my dear M. Fraisier. Under pretence of giving me good advice and telling me what to do, you have lost me my annuity and the gentlemen's confidence. . . ."
One of the word-tornadoes in which she excelled was in full progress, but Fraisier cut her short.
"This is idle talk. The facts, the facts! and be quick about it."
"Well; it came about in this way,"—and she told him of the scene which she had just come through.
"You have lost nothing through me," was Fraisier's comment. "The gentlemen had their doubts, or they would not have set this trap for you. They were lying in wait and spying upon you. . . . You have not told me everything," he added, with a tiger's glance at the woman before him.
"I hide anything from you!" cried she—"after all that we have done together!" she added with a shudder.
"My dear madame, I have done nothing blameworthy," returned Fraisier. Evidently he meant to deny his nocturnal visit to Pons' rooms.
Every hair on La Cibot's head seemed to scorch her, while a sense of icy cold swept over her from head to foot.
"What?" . . . she faltered in bewilderment.