About six o’clock the counsellor, who had a habit of speaking in a very summary manner, resumed in these words,—
“So we decide—”
“To decide nothing,” replied the burgomaster.
“I think, on the whole, that you are right, Van Tricasse.”
“I think so too, Niklausse. We will take steps with reference to the civil commissary when we have more light on the subject— later on. There is no need for a month yet.”
“Nor even for a year,” replied Niklausse, unfolding his pocket-handkerchief and calmly applying it to his nose.
There was another silence of nearly a quarter of an hour. Nothing disturbed this repeated pause in the conversation; not even the appearance of the house-dog Lento, who, not less phlegmatic than his master, came to pay his respects in the parlour. Noble dog!— a model for his race. Had he been made of pasteboard, with wheels on his paws, he would not have made less noise during his stay.
Towards eight o’clock, after Lotchè had brought the antique lamp of polished glass, the burgomaster said to the counsellor,—
“We have no other urgent matter to consider?”
“No, Van Tricasse; none that I know of.”