“I had not the honor to be informed of your address,” said he.
“I wrote to you as soon as I was settled in London, and to this day have never received a reply.”
“You wrote?” he exclaimed, with some sign of disturbance.
“I did, I repeated, and I quoted some words I remembered from my letter.
“Pardon!” said the Marquis, “I do remember now receiving that letter, but I must have mislaid it, and I certainly forgot that you had written.”
“And, having forgotten an important communication, you proceed to suspect me of treason! This is excellent, M. le Marquis!”
“My dear friend,” he replied, in an agitated voice, “you then assure me I was wrong in mistrusting you?”
“Absolutely!”
“Pardon me, my friend! I am overwhelmed with confusion!”
He was so genuinely distressed, and the sincerity of his contrition was so apparent, that what could I do but forgive him? But what carelessness, what waste of time in dogging the steps of a friend, what indications of mismanagement at every turn! And even at that moment I was apparently embarked under this leader upon some secret and hazardous undertaking. Well, there was nothing for it but to do my best so far as I was concerned.