“Look here, I’m thinking of this, I’m thinking of what I might think if, like last time, after my spending the evening alone with you, you brought me home and if, at the moment of parting, I perceived that twenty-thousand francs had disappeared from my coat-pocket⁠ ⁠… like last time.”

“And what might you think?” asked Moncharmin, crimson with rage.

“I might think that, as you hadn’t left me by a foot’s breadth and as, by your own wish, you were the only one to approach me, like last time, I might think that, if that twenty-thousand francs was no longer in my pocket, it stood a very good chance of being in yours!”

Moncharmin leaped up at the suggestion.

“Oh!” he shouted. “A safety-pin!”

“What do you want a safety-pin for?”

“To fasten you up with!⁠ ⁠… A safety-pin!⁠ ⁠… A safety-pin!”