"If it pleases me, Signor Velletri!"
The Italian laughed, and then said, in an indifferent tone:
"My dear vicomte, in the position in which you find yourself, it would be madness for me to imagine that you intend to insult me, and therefore I do not consider your words as spoken."
"What do you mean, signor?"
"Oh, nothing, except that yesterday was the day of presentation for a certain paper, which you, in a fit of abstraction, no doubt, signed with another name than your own!"
The vicomte grew pale, and he mechanically clinched his fist.
"How—do—you—know—this?" he finally stammered.
The Italian drew an elegant portfolio from his pocket, and took a piece of stamped paper from it.
"Here is the corpus delicti," he said, laughing.