"Nobody. But I have my misgivings . . . quite wrongly, perhaps. Still, certain facts lead me to think that I am being spied upon and that some one is trying to discover my secret. It's just a few clues . . . things that have been moved from their place . . . and, above all, a vague intuition."
"This is all very indefinite, uncle."
"Very, I admit," he said, drawing himself up. "And so forgive me if my precautions are excessive . . . and let's talk of something else: of yourself, Victorien, of your plans . . ."
"I have no plans, uncle."
"Yes, you have. There's one at least that you're keeping from me."
"How so?"
He stopped in his walk and said:
"You're in love with Bérangère."
I did not think of protesting, knowing that Noël Dorgeroux had been in the Yard the day before, in front of the screen:
"I am, uncle, I'm in love with Bérangère, but she doesn't care for me."