"No, Joseph, I assure you."
"Yes, yes; you have bad ideas about me."
I do not know, no, really, I do not know, where, at that moment, I found the courage to ask him:
"Well, Joseph, tell me that it was you who outraged the little Claire in the woods."
Joseph received the shock with extraordinary tranquillity. He simply shrugged his shoulders, swayed back and forth a few seconds, and then, giving a hitch to his pantaloons, which had slipped a little, he answered, simply:
"You see? Did I not tell you so? I know your thoughts; I know everything that goes on in your mind."
His voice was softer, but his look had become so terrifying that it was impossible for me to articulate a word.
"It is not a question of the little Claire; it is a question of you."
He took me in his arms, as he did the other evening.
"Will you come with me to the little café?"