"In any case Belfort passes this way to-morrow between eleven o'clock and noon.... He does not know me—is not aware of my existence.... It is through an indirect course that I learned he was coming; also that he would have something to say to you.... Will you, therefore, hand him this envelope?"
Vagualame drew from the inside pocket of his short coat a large packet sealed with red wax.
"Be very careful! This document is important—has been difficult to obtain—extremely difficult!... On no account must it go astray!... Tell Belfort that it must be handed over as quickly as possible.... Well?"
Nichoune did not take the packet Vagualame was holding out to her. She remained seated, her gaze fixed on the tips of her shoes, her hands buried in her muff.
"Well, what is it? What are you waiting for?" Vagualame repeated.
At this Nichoune blazed out:
"What the matter is? Why, that I have had enough of all this: I don't want any more of it! Not if I know it! It's too dangerous!"
Vagualame appeared stupefied.
"What, little one?" he asked very gently. "You do not wish to be our faithful letter-box any more?"