M. Nicole crept timidly into the room, sat down on the extreme edge of the chair to which Prasville pointed and said:
“I have come . . .to resume . . . our conversation of yesterday.... Please excuse the delay, monsieur.”
“One second,” said Prasville. “Will you allow me?”
He stepped briskly to the outer room and, seeing his secretary:
“I was forgetting, M. Lartigue. Have the staircases and passages searched . . . in case of accomplices.”
He returned, settled himself comfortably, as though for a long and interesting conversation, and began:
“You were saying, M. Nicole?”
“I was saying, monsieur le secrétaire;-général, that I must apologize for keeping you waiting yesterday evening. I was detained by different matters. First of all, Mme. Mergy....”
“Yes, you had to see Mme. Mergy home.”
“Just so, and to look after her. You can understand the poor thing’s despair.... Her son Gilbert so near death.... And such a death!... At that time we could only hope for a miracle . . . an impossible miracle. I myself was resigned to the inevitable.... You know as well as I do, when fate shows itself implacable, one ends by despairing.”