"But in that case I should incur my patron's enmity."
"And in the other you will run a very certain risk of being hanged."
"Even so, monsieur."
"You fear your patron more keenly than the law!" I cried. "Believe me, you are wrong."
"Pardon!" he interrupted, "you mistake, monsieur. I fear no man. Sir Charles Venner is my patron and my teacher. But he is also my friend. I would suffer death for him, if need arose."
I sighed. "Will he really kill me, do you think?" I asked.
The negro pursed out his thick, black lips. "I feel sure of it," he muttered. "As soon as once the jewels that he seeks are in his hands, you'll die."
"Then my hours are numbered," I said gloomily, "for that will be to-day."
"But then, can it be, you told him truly, yesternight, monsieur?"
"I was mad!" I groaned aloud. "Mad. Last night I cared for nothing! I was torn apart with rage and with despair. But now it is different." I groaned again. "Ah! M. Beudant, is there no hope for me? You do not look inhuman! Would you have the murder of a fellow being on your soul. Help me to live, if only for a little while—a few short hours? One other day? I am not fit to die, Beudant. Great God, no! I am not fit to die!"