"So you are determined that I am a secret ambassador," he meditated. "Well, I must act my part with dignity. And you think we cannot be comrades? I dislike to irritate you as I do."
I answered him soberly. "We will be partners," I agreed; "friends for the night's bivouac, willing to help and to share."
"But you will not trust me?"
I looked away. "What would a truce between us mean? You are English,
I, French. Be assured that sooner or later the fox eats the hen."
He laughed. "Who is to be the fox?" He jumped to his feet. "Partners, then, it shall be. A strange creed. A helping hand to-day and a knife in the back to-morrow. But I shall follow you, monsieur."
"You will follow?"
"In this path as in others. If you refuse to admit even a truce between us, I agree. I shall keep out of your way as much as possible. Only—I would not have you think me ungrateful."
I could never forbear a smile when he was serious. "We shall probably think very little about each other," I said comfortably. "Once settled into routine we shall have work to fill our thought. You will learn to do your share. I think you willing."
"Indeed I am willing, monsieur."
"Good. So we shall work hard, sleep early, and the months will pass before we know. Let us not talk of trust or friendship, since our ways are divided."