Suddenly, summoning his wits together, he burrowed with feverish haste in his morocco writing-case, pulled out a sheet of blotting-paper, and began to soak up the ink with the carefulness of a Sister of Mercy stanching a wound.

I seized the opportunity to withdraw discreetly to the third row of tables, where the attendant had just deposited my books.

Fear is so unreasoning.

Very likely by saying no more about it, by making off and hiding my head in my hands, like a man crushed by the weight of his remorse, I might disarm this wrath.

I tried to think so.