And it will say that this was the secret of your great success in a task where better men than you--meaning no offence--did fail repeatedly." "Success," muttered Renouard, pulling-to the office door after him with considerable energy.

And the letters of the word PRIVATE like a row of white eyes seemed to stare after his back sinking down the staircase of that temple of publicity.
Renouard had no doubt that all the means of publicity would be put at the service of love and used for the discovery of the loved man.

He did not wish him dead.

He did not wish him any harm.

We are all equipped with a fund of humanity which is not exhausted without many and repeated provocations--and this man had done him no evil.