ve 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."

"Why would this be disastrous?"

"Because, the moment Mme. Fauvel opens her lips to her husband, our
birds will take flight."

Prosper had never thought of this eventuality.

"Then, again," continued M. Verduret, "it would deeply distress an