"It's beastly cold," Paul continued with a groan.
"In a moment you shall take a run," the Captain promised. And he pursued, "The Countess must not be in your debt. Permit me to discharge the obligation." He counted twenty of the thirty notes and held them out to Paul. After another stare Paul laughed feebly.
"I am doing our friend M. Guillaume no wrong," the Captain explained. "His employers have in their possession fifty thousand francs of mine. I avail myself of this opportunity to reduce the balance to their debit. As between M. Guillaume and me, that is all. As between you and me, sir, I act for the Countess. I pay your claim at your own figures, and since I discharge the claim I have made free to destroy the evidence. I have thrown the letters into the river. I do not wish to threaten, but if you 're not out of sight in ten minutes, I 'll throw you after them."
"If I told you all the story—" began Paul with a sneer.
"I 'm not accustomed to listen to stories against ladies, sir," thundered the Captain.
"She 's had my money for a year—"
"The Countess would wish to be most liberal, but she did not understand that you regarded the transaction as a commercial one." He counted five more notes and handed them to Paul with an air of careless liberality.
Paul broke into a grudging laugh.
"What are you going to tell old Guillaume?" he asked.
"I'm going to tell him that my claim against his employers is reduced by the amount that I have had the honour to hand you, M. de Roustache. Pardon me, but you seem to forget the remark I permitted myself to make just now." And the Captain pointed to the river.