Madame Le Prun was too much excited to get it in an instant. She ran here, and flew there--she screamed and rummaged. Le Prun stormed. A key was at last thrown out, amid prayers and imprecations. How provoking!--it was a wrong one. Another effort--a new burst of execration from Le Prun--another fit of laughter from Blassemare--more screaming and pressing from the window--and all accompanied by the sustained yelping of the injured lap-dog. "Here it is--this must be it," and another key clangs and jingles on the ground. "Yes, this time it is the right key." The door flies open--Le Prun rushes puffing among the bushes. Blassemare sees something drop glittering to the ground as the door opens--a button and a little rag of velvet; he says nothing, but pockets it, and joins the moonlight chase. It is all in vain. Le Prun, perspiring and purple, his passion as swollen as his veins, knowing not what to think, but fearing every thing, staggered back, silent and exhausted; Blassemare also silent--no longer laughing--abstracted, walks with knit brows, and compressed lips, beside him. "Of course," said Blassemare, "you have the fullest reliance upon the honor of your wife?" Monsieur Le Prun growled an inarticulate curse or two, and Blassemare whistled a minuet. "Come, my dear Le Prun," he resumed, "let us be frank; you are uneasy." "About what?" "Madame Le Prun." "She is not injured?" "No, but----" "Ah, she's in league with the thieves, may be?" said Le Prun, with an agitated sneer. "Precisely so," answered Blassemare, with a cold laugh. "I know what you think, and I know what _I_ think," replied Le Prun, with suppressed fury. His suspicions were all awake; he was bursting with rage, and looked truly infernal. "On the faith of a gentleman," said Blassemare, with a changed tone, "I cannot be said to _think_ any thing about the affair. I have my doubts, but that is all. We men are naturally suspicious; but, after all, there are such things as thieves and housebreakers." Le Prun said nothing, but looked black and icy as the north wind. "At all events," said Blassemare, "we men of the world know how to deal with affairs of this sort; so long as any uncertainty exists, put ostensibly the best possible construction upon it. Thus much is due to one's dignity in the eyes of the public; and in private we may prosecute inquiries unsuspected, and with the greater likelihood of success." "I know the world as well as you, Blassemare. I'm sick of your tone of superiority and advice. I know when to respect and when to defy the world. A man can no more make a fortune without tact than he can lose one without folly."