I sat there, abandoned to my sad reflections, when one of the attendants, whom I had not seen approaching, touched me on the shoulder.
“The keeper wishes to speak to you.”
I rose up and went. The terrible reader had gone back to his seat.
“It was you, sir, I believe, who blotted the folio just now?”
“It was, sir.”
“You did not do so on purpose?”
“Most certainly not, sir! I am indeed sorry for he accident.”
“You ought to be. The volume is almost unique; and the blot, too, for that matter. I never saw such a blot! Will you, please, leave me your Christian name, surname, profession, and address?”
I wrote down, “Fabien Jean Jacques Mouillard, barrister, 91 Rue de Rennes.”
“Is that all?” I asked.