among ourselves … you’re no fool!”
“Why, sir,” exclaimed the box-keeper, stopping the pleasant nodding of the black feathers in her dingy bonnet, “I assure you no one has ever doubted that!”
“We are quite agreed and we shall soon understand one another. The story of the ghost is all humbug, isn’t it? … Well, still between ourselves, … it has lasted long enough.”
Mme. Giry looked at the managers as though they were talking Chinese. She walked up to Richard’s table and asked, rather anxiously:
“What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
“Oh, you understand quite well. In any case, you’ve got to understand. … And, first of all, tell us his name.”
“Whose name?”
“The name of the man whose accomplice you are, Mme. Giry!”
“I am the ghost’s accomplice? I? … His accomplice in what, pray?”
“You do all he wants.”
“Oh! He’s not very troublesome, you know.”
“And does he still tip you?”
“I mustn’t complain.”
“How much does he give you for bringing him that envelope?”
“Ten francs.”
“You poor thing! That’s not much, is it?”