"This man was silly enough to tell you that I was your master, and you replied to him with the Mirabeau tone: 'Go and tell your master—' My dear Gilbert, in the name of reason, I ask you to remember that the true is never the opposite of the false; it is another thing, that is all; but to which I add, that in answering as you did, you have cruelly compromised yourself. We should never contradict a fool; it is running the risk of being like him."
Gilbert blushed. He did not try to amend anything, but readily changing his tactics, he said, smiling:
"I implore you, sir, not to drive this man away. I want him to stay to remind me occasionally that I am liable to lose my senses."
But what were his feelings when the Count, having sent for this valet de chambre, said to him:
"You have not done this on your own responsibility—you received orders. Who gave them?"
Fritz answered, stammering:
"Do please forgive me, your excellency! It was M. Stephane who, yesterday evening, made me a present of two Russian crowns on condition that every morning for a week I should say to M. Saville, 'good-morning, comrade.'"
A flash of joy shone in the Count's eyes. He turned towards
Gilbert, and pressing his hand, said to him:
"For this once I thank you cordially for having addressed your complaints to me. The affair is more serious than I had thought. There is a malignant abscess there, which must be lanced once for all."
This surgical comparison made Gilbert shudder; he cursed his hasty passion and his stupidity. Why had he not suspected the real culprit? Why was it necessary for him to justify the hatred which Stephane had avowed towards him?