Castrillon bowed:
“I am here to learn your wishes. I have heard from several sources that you wished to see me. If you have anything to say, pray say it quickly, because—I have an appointment with Mrs. Parflete.”
“Will you do me the favour to leave that lady's name out of the discussion?”
“I see no reason why I should do you favours, M. de Hausée. But I am quite ready to atone for my indifference by any course of action which could satisfy the most scrupulous delicacy.”
“There is but one course of action open to us.”
“I shall be happy to have the honour of meeting you on your own terms. But,” he added, contemptuously, “we are both wasting our time over a worthless woman. She was seen leaving your lodgings on Wednesday last. I have just heard this. And I received, before the play began this evening, a letter from her fixing a rendez-vous for two o'clock. If you doubt me I can show you the letter. I am as much disappointed as you are. She has fooled us both. Before God I could have sworn she was a religious and modest woman.”
His chagrin was so genuine that it was impossible to doubt his good faith.
“It is a lie,” said Orange; “she was never at my lodgings.”
“I don't call you a liar, M. de Hausée, but I can prove my words, whereas it might be difficult to prove yours. I can show you the letter.”
“She never wrote it.”