That doubt he had entertained grew now into something like assurance.
"I know not whether it is the fever makes your tongue run so--" he began, when the other broke in, a sudden light of understanding in his eyes.
"You are at fault," he cried.

"I have no fever." "But then your letter to Condillac ?" demanded Garnache, lost now in utter amazement.
"What of it?
I'll swear I never said I had a fever." "I'll swear you did." "You give me the lie, then ?" But Garnache waved his hands as if he implored the other, to have done with giving and taking offence.

There was some misunderstanding somewhere, he realized, and sheer astonishment had cooled his anger.

His only aim now was to have this obscure thing made clear.
"No, no," he cried.

"I am seeking enlightenment." Florimond smiled.
"I may have said that we were detained by a fever; but I never said the patient was myself." "Who then?
Who else ?" cried Garnache.
"Why, now I understand, monsieur.