"Diplomacy," mademoiselle murmured, with a world of scorn, and he shook his head reprovingly, then placed his hand quietly upon her arm.
"But my daughter shall not be suspected of connivance with me, and still more, no innocent man shall suffer. Monsieur Levivé is incapable of betraying a trust. Even you, madame," and he shot a meaning glance at me, "could not persuade him to break his faith, and you know it."
I bowed my head, and wondered how it was Monsieur Desormes was not universally admired.
"He shall not be disgraced; no shadow of a slur shall rest upon him, for I, madame, will write an explanation that shall satisfy Monsieur Roché, and you shall give it to him yourself."
I bowed my thanks, and he sat down at his desk, and, drawing a sheet of official paper towards him, rapidly covered it and handed it to me. It commenced with the usual courtesies which we have such an innate liking for addressing one another with, and then the letter continued: "Because others who are innocent, monsieur, have been suspected, I am prepared to place in your possession the name of the man and his method. His name is—"
The writing finished there, and I held out my hand for the second sheet, which he had completed while I read.
"You will not ask it, madame?" Monsieur Desormes suggested.
"As you will, monsieur. I have your word that your letter will entirely free those who are innocent from suspicion?"
"You have the word of a—"
"Diplomat?" mademoiselle interrupted, with her anger still smouldering.