This was a cruel beginning.
She thought so, too, perhaps, and withdrew discreetly into a dim corner, near the bookcase at the end of the room.
“I have felt deep regret, sir, for that accident the other day—I set down the penholder clumsily, in equilibrium—unstable equilibrium—besides, I had no notion there was a reader behind the desk. Of course, if I had been aware, I should—I should have acted differently.”
M. Charnot allowed me to flounder on with the contemplative satisfaction of an angler who has got a fish at the end of his line. He seemed to find me so very stupid, that as a matter of fact I became stupid. And then, there was no answer—not a word. Silence, alas! is not the reproof of kings alone. It does pretty well for everybody. I stumbled on two or three more phrases quite as flatly infelicitous, and he received them with the same faint smile and the same silence.
To escape from my embarrassment:
“Sir,” I said, “I came also to ask for a piece of information.”
“I am at your service, sir.”
“Monsieur Flamaran has probably written to you on the matter?”
“Flamaran?”
“Yes, three days ago.”