“Did you not promise to trust everything to me?”

“You were absent, monsieur; and you yourself might have been surprised by an unexpected—­”

“Only fools are ever surprised into committing a piece of folly,” cried M. Verduret impatiently.  “To write an anonymous letter!  Do you know to what you expose me?  Breaking a sacred promise made to one of the few persons whom I highly esteem among my fellow-beings.  I shall be looked upon as a liar, a cheat—­I who—­”

He abruptly stopped, as if afraid to trust himself to speak further; after calming down a little, he turned to Prosper, and said: 

“The best thing we can do is to try and repair the harm you have done.  When and where did you post this idiotic letter?”

“Yesterday evening, at the Rue du Cardinal Lemoine.  It hardly reached the bottom of the box before I regretted having written it.”

“You had better have regretted it before dropping it in.  What time was it?”

“About ten o’clock.”

“Then your sweet little letter must have reached M. Fauvel with his early mail; probably he was alone in his study when he read it.”

“I know he was:  he never goes down to the bank until he has opened his letters.”

“Can you recall the exact terms of your letter?  Stop and think, for it is very important that I should know.”

“Oh, it is unnecessary for me to reflect.  I remember the letter as if I had just written it.”

And almost verbatim he repeated what he had written.

After attentively listening, M. Verduret sat with a perplexed frown upon his face, as if trying to discover some means of repairing the harm done.

“That is an awkward letter,” he finally said, “to come from a person who does not deal in such things.  It leaves everything to be understood without specifying anything; it is vague, jeering, insidious.  Repeat it to me.”

Prosper obeyed, and his second version did not vary from the first in a single word.

“Nothing could be more alarming than that allusion to the cashier,” said the fat man, repeating the words after Prosper.  “The question, ’Was it also he who stole Mme. Fauvel’s diamonds?’ is simply fearful.  What could be more exasperating than the sarcastic advice, ’In your place, I would not have any public scandal, but would watch my wife?’ The effect of your letter must have been terrible,” he added thoughtfully as he stood with folded arms looking at poor Prosper.  “M.  Fauvel is quick-tempered, is he not?”

“He has a violent temper, when aroused.”

“Then the mischief is not irreparable.”

“What! do you suppose—­”

“I think that an impulsive man is afraid of himself, and seldom carries out his first angry intentions.  That is our chance of salvation.  If, upon the receipt of your bomb-shell, M. Fauvel, unable to restrain himself, rushed into his wife’s room, and cried, ’Where are your diamonds?’ Mme. Fauvel will confess all; and then good-by to our hopes.”