"Five thousand francs," said Guillaume, sullenly.
"They rate me rather cheap," exclaimed the Captain, his face falling. "I should have hoped for five-and-twenty."
"Would you? If it had been that, I should have brought three men with me."
"Hum!" said the Captain. "And you gave me a stiff job by yourself, eh?" He turned and signalled to the driver, who had now reached the Cross:
"Wait a moment there, my friend." Then he turned back again to Guillaume. "Get into the carriage—go to Sasellano; catch Paul if you can, but leave me in peace," he said, and, diving into his pocket, he produced the five notes of a thousand francs which Paul de Roustache, in some strange impulse of repentance, or gratitude, had handed to him. "What you tell your employers," he added, "I don't care. This is a gift from me to you. The deuce, I reward effort as well as success—I am more liberal than your Government." The gesture with which he held out the notes was magnificent.
Guillaume stared at him in amazement, but his hand went out towards the notes.
"I am free to do what I can at Sasellano?"
"Yes, free to do anything except bother me. But I think your bird will have flown."
Guillaume took the notes and hid them in his pocket; then he walked straight up to the driver, crying, "How much to take me with you to Sasellano?"
The driver looked at him, at Dieppe, and then down towards the river.