“‘Is your little boy ill, Madame Plumet?’

   “‘No, Mademoiselle.’

   “‘You look so sad.’

   “Then, according to her husband’s words, Madame Plumet took her
   courage in her two hands, and looking her pretty customer in the
   face, said: 

   “‘Mademoiselle, why are you marrying?’

“’What a funny question!  Why, because I am old enough; because I have had an offer; because all young girls marry, or else they go into convents, or become old maids.  Well, Madame Plumet, I never have felt a religious vocation, and I never expected to become an old maid.  Why do you ask such a question?’

   “’Because, Mademoiselle, married life may be very happy, but it may
   be quite the reverse!’

   “After giving expression to this excellent aphorism, Madame Plumet,
   unable to contain herself any longer, burst into tears.

   “Mademoiselle Jeanne, who had been laughing before, was now amazed
   and presently grew rather anxious.

“Still, her pride kept her from asking any further questions, and Madame Plumet was too much frightened to add a word to her answer.  But they will meet again the day after to-morrow, on account of the hat, as before.

   “Here the story grew confused, and I understood no more of it.

“Clearly there is more behind this.  Monsieur Plumet never would have gone out of his way merely to inform me that his wife had given him a taste of her tongue, nor would he have looked so upset about it.  But you know the fellow’s way; whenever it’s important for him to make himself clear he loses what little power of speech he has, becomes worse than dumb-unintelligible.  He sputtered inconsequent ejaculations at me in this fashion: 

   “’To think of it, to-morrow, perhaps!  And you know what a
   business!  Oh, damnation!  Anyhow, that must not be!  Ah!  Monsieur
   Lampron, how women do talk!’

   “And with this Monsieur Plumet left me.

“I must confess, old fellow, that I am not burning with desire to get mixed up in this mess, or to go and ask Madame Plumet for the explanation which her husband was unable to give me.  I shall bide my time.  If anything turns up to-morrow, they are sure to tell me, and I will write you word.

   “My mother sends you her love, and begs you to wrap up warmly in the
   evening; she says the twilight is the winter of hot climates.

   “The dear woman has been a little out of sorts for the last two
   days.  Today she is keeping her bed.  I trust it is nothing but a
   cold.

   “Your affectionate friend,

“SylvestreLampron.”

CHAPTER XIII

STARTLING NEWS FROM SYLVESTRE

Milan, June 18th.

The examination of documents began this morning.  I never thought we should have such a heap to examine, nor papers of such a length.  The first sitting passed almost entirely in classifying, in examining signatures, in skirmishes of all kinds around this main body.