because I can understand it. I have gradually told him all my secrets.
I felt the need of a confidant, for I was stifling, metaphorically as
well as literally. Now, when he hands me a deed, instead of saying "All
right," as I used to, I say, "Take a chair, Monsieur Jupille"; I shut the
door, and we talk. The clerks think we're talking law, but the clerks
are mistaken.

Yesterday, for instance, he whispered to me:

"I have come down the Rue de l'Universite. They will soon be back."

"How did you learn that?"

"I saw a man carrying coals into the house, and asked for whom they were,
that's all."

Again, we had a talk, just now, which shows what progress I have made in
the old clerk's heart. He had just submitted a draft to me. I had read
it through and grunted my approval, yet M. Jupille did not go.

"Anything further, Monsieur Jupille?"

"Something to ask of you--to do me a kindness, or, rather, an honor."

"Let's hear what it is."

"This weather, Monsieur Mouillard, is very good for fishing, though
rather warm."

"Rather warm, Monsieur Jupille!"