We waited until it pleased Miserrimus Dexter to proceed. The interval was a long one. His hand went up again to his forehead. A duller and duller look was palpably stealing over his eyes. When he did speak, it was not to go on with the narrative, but to put a question.
“Where did I leave off?” he asked.
My hopes sank again as rapidly as they had risen. I managed to answer him, however, without showing any change in my manner.
“You left off,” I said, “where Damoride was speaking to Cunegonda—”
“Yes, yes!” he interposed. “And what did she say?”
“She said, ‘The door is kept locked, and the nurse has got the key.’”
He instantly leaned forward in his chair.
“No!” he answered, vehemently. “You’re wrong. ‘Key?’ Nonsense! I never said ‘Key.’”
“I thought you did, Mr. Dexter.”
“I never did! I said something else, and you have forgotten it.”