“Stay where you are,” said Prasville.
He turned the key in the door and began to pace the room, with his hands behind his back and his eyes fixed on the floor.
And Lupin, who had not breathed a word during the whole of this scene and who had prudently contented himself with playing a colourless part, said to himself:
“What a fuss! What a lot of affectation to arrive at the inevitable result! As though Prasville, who is not a genius, but not an absolute blockhead either, would be likely to lose the chance of revenging himself on his mortal enemy! There, what did I say? The idea of hurling Daubrecq into the bottomless pit appeals to him. Come, we’ve won the rubber.”
Prasville was opening a small inner door which led to the office of his private secretary.
He gave an order aloud:
“M. Lartigue, telephone to the Élysée and say that I request the favour of an audience for a communication of the utmost importance.”
He closed the door, came back to Clarisse and said:
“In any case, my intervention is limited to submitting your proposal.”
“Once you submit it, it will be accepted.”