“Suzanne! Suzanne!”
She was returning from a walk. She entered hastily. He stammered, in a choking voice:
“Suzanne ... the box ... the box of envelopes?”
“What box?”
“The one I bought at the Louvre ... one Saturday ... it was at the end of that table.”
“Don’t you remember, father, we put all those things away together.”
“When?”
“The evening ... you know ... the same evening....”
“But where?... Tell me, quick!... Where?”
“Where? Why, in the writing-desk.”