Fandor made no reply to this. Here was the telephone mystery again—an alarming mystery. Elizabeth had not given her address to anyone: Fandor had been careful not to give it to a soul.... Clearly, this poor girl, even in the heart of this peaceful convent, was not secure from some unknown, outside interference; and Fandor, optimist though he was, could not help shuddering at the thought of these mysterious adversaries, implacable and formidable, who might work harm to this unfortunate girl, whose devoted protector he now was.... Besides ... did he not feel for Jacques Dollon's pretty sister something sweeter and more tender than pure sympathy?... Whenever he was near her, did he not experience a thrill of emotion? Fandor did not analyse his feelings, but they influenced him unconsciously.
He turned to Elizabeth.
"Since you cannot remain any longer at the convent, where do you think of staying?"
"Well, monsieur, I shall go back to the convent this evening, though it is painful to me—very, very painful—to be obliged to accept their icy hospitality ... as for to-morrow!"
Fandor was about to make a suggestion, when the door of Monsieur Fuselier's room opened half-way. The magistrate's clerk appeared, and, glancing round the passage over his spectacles, called, in a dull tone:
"Monsieur Jérôme Fandor!"
"Here!" replied our journalist. "I am coming!"
Then, taking a hasty farewell of Elizabeth as he went towards the magistrate's room, he whispered:
"Wait for me, mademoiselle; and, for the love of Heaven, remember this—whatever I may say, whatever happens, whether we are alone, together, or in the presence of others, whether it be in a few minutes, or later on, do not be astonished at what may befall you, even though it be my fault—be absolutely convinced of this—whatever I may do will be for your good—more than that I must not say!"
Elizabeth had not a word to say, but his words were humming and buzzing in her ears when Fandor was in the magistrate's room.