“The deuce! the deuce!”
“That seems clear to you, doesn’t it?” said Jules. “Well, in the depths of my heart there is a voice that pleads for my wife, and makes itself heard above the pangs of jealousy. I must endure the worst of all agony until to-morrow; but to-morrow, between nine and ten I shall know all; I shall be happy or wretched for all my life. Think of me then, Jacquet.”
“I shall be at your house to-morrow at eight o’clock. We will go together; I’ll wait for you, if you like, in the street. You may run some danger, and you ought to have near you some devoted person who’ll understand a mere sign, and whom you can safely trust. Count on me.”
“Even to help me in killing some one?”
“The deuce! the deuce!” said Jacquet, repeating, as it were, the same musical note. “I have two children and a wife.”
Jules pressed his friend’s hand and went away; but returned immediately.
“I forgot the letter,” he said. “But that’s not all, I must reseal it.”
“The deuce! the deuce! you opened it without saving the seal; however, it is still possible to restore it. Leave it with me and I’ll bring it to you secundum scripturam.”
“At what time?”
“Half-past five.”