Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 3, 2025
She was without distrust, never suspecting that the stranger listening to her was other than a friend of Prosper. As for Fanferlot, he congratulated himself upon his success.
M. Fanferlot, nicknamed the Squirrel, was indebted to his prodigious agility for this title, of which he was not a little proud. Slim and insignificant in appearance he might, in spite of his iron muscles, be taken for a bailiff's under clerk, as he walked along buttoned up to the chin in his thin black overcoat.
Finally she said: "I cannot remain here inactive, without attempting to contribute in some way to his safety. Can you not understand that this floor burns my feet?" Evidently, if she was not absolutely convinced, her resolution was shaken. Fanferlot saw that he was gaining ground, and this certainty, making him more at ease, gave weight to his eloquence.
Fanferlot the Squirrel certainly was not afraid of his patron, as he called him; for he started out with his nose in the air, and his hat cocked on one side. But by the time he reached the Rue Montmartre, where M. Lecoq lived, his courage had vanished; he pulled his hat over his eyes, and hung his head, as if looking for relief among the paving-stones.
M. Lecoq was not the man to be hoodwinked, so Fanferlot told the exact truth, a rare thing for him to do. However as he reached the end of his statement, a feeling of mortified vanity prevented his telling how he had been fooled by Gypsy and the stout man. Unfortunately for poor Fanferlot, M. Lecoq was always fully informed on every subject in which he interested himself.
Fanferlot had cherished the hope that he was about to possess a very important document, which would clearly prove the guilt or innocence of Prosper; whereas he had only seized a love-letter written by a man who was evidently more anxious about the welfare of the woman he loved than about his own.
"I would consult with M. Lecoq." Fanferlot jumped up as if he had been shot. "Now, that's pretty advice! Do you want me to lose my place? M. Lecoq does not suspect that I have anything to do with the case, except to obey his orders." "Nobody told you to let him know you were investigating it on your own account.
You a friend of Prosper!" exclaimed Mme. Gypsy in a scornful tone, as if her pride were wounded. Fanferlot did not condescend to notice this offensive exclamation. He was ambitious, and contempt failed to irritate him. "I said a friend of his, madame, and there are few people who would have the courage to claim friendship for him now." Mme. Gypsy was struck by the words and manner of Fanferlot.
"You have it in your power, madame," he said, "to render a great service to the man you love." "In what way, monsieur, in what way?" "Obey him, my child," said Fanferlot, in a paternal manner. Mme. Gypsy evidently expected very different advice. "Obey," she murmured, "obey!" "It is your duty," said Fanferlot with grave dignity, "it is your sacred duty."
I shall expect you at the Archangel day after to-morrow, between twelve and four. The letter read, Fanferlot at once proceeded to copy it. "Well!" said Mme. Alexandre, "what do you think?" Fanferlot was delicately resealing the letter when the door of the hotel office was abruptly opened, and the boy twice whispered, "Pst! Pst!" Fanferlot rapidly disappeared into a dark closet.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking