the chance."

"Precisely my own suspicion. What follows? Instead of wasting my time
seeking an interview which would not be granted--"

"And which would lead to nothing even if it were granted!"

"And which would lead to nothing even if it were granted, as you point
out; instead of doing this, it is evident that I must write Labaregue's
criticism myself!"

"Hein?" ejaculated Pitou, sitting up in bed.

"I confess that I do not perceive yet how it is to be managed, but
obviously it is the only course. _I_ must write what is to be
said, and _La Voix_ must believe that it has been written by
Labaregue. Come, we are getting on famously--we have now decided what
we are to avoid!"

"By D'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis," cried Pitou, "this will be
the doughtiest adventure in which we have engaged!"

"You are right, it is an adventure worthy of our steel ... pens! We
shall enlighten the public, crown an artiste, and win her heart by way
of reward--that is to say, _I_ shall win her heart by way of
reward. What your own share of the booty will be I do not recognize,
but I promise you, at least, a generous half of the dangers."

"My comrade," murmured Pitou; "ever loyal! But do you not think that
_La Voix_ will smell a rat? What about the handwriting?"