He cast one hasty look at the messenger, whose countenance evinced something of surprise and consternation at beholding him; and, hastening up to me, grasped my hand vehemently, and, while his eye dwelt upon the letter I held, cried, "Do not read it--not a word--not a word: there is poison in it!" And so saying, he snatched desperately at the letter.

I detained it from him with one hand, and pushing him aside with the other, said,-- "Pardon me, Father, directly I have read it you shall have that pleasure,--not till then!" and, as I said this, my eye falling upon the letter discovered my own name written in two places.

My suspicions were aroused.

I raised my eyes to the spot where the messenger had stood, with the view of addressing some question to him respecting his employer, when, to my surprise, I perceived he was already gone; I had no time, however, to follow him.
"Boy," said the Abbe, gasping for breath, and still seizing me with his lean, bony hand,--"boy, give me that letter instantly; I charge you not to disobey me." "You forget yourself, Sir," said I, endeavouring to shake him off, "you forget yourself: there is no longer between us the distinction of pupil and teacher; and if you have not yet learned the respect due to my station, suffer me to tell you that it is time you should." "Give me that letter, I beseech you," said Montreuil, changing his voice from anger to supplication; "I ask your pardon for my violence: the letter does not concern you but me; there is a secret in those lines which you see are in my handwriting that implicates my personal safety.
Give it me, my dear, dear son: your own honour, if not your affection for me, demands that you should." I was staggered.

His violence had confirmed my suspicions, but his gentleness weakened them.