"Ah, you may laugh, but I can do it."
François used the permission; he laughed gaily and freely.
"All your party tries," said he, "and it does not do it. And you will do it alone! Ah, par exemple!"
His cool scepticism unloosed Benham's tongue, when an eager curiosity might have revived his prudence and set a seal on his lips. He had chafed at being thought a nobody so long: Kilshaw's injunctions against gossip had been so hard to follow: he could not resist trying what startling effect a hint would have.
"I know enough to ruin him," he whispered, and something in his look or tone convinced François that he believed what he said. "Yes, and I'm going to do it. Others have got the money and'll back me—I've got the information. We shall ruin him, Mr. G-Gaspard, we shall drive him from the country, and where'll your precious party, and your precious schemes, and your precious meetings be then? Tell me that!"
"He would be a great loss," remarked François
calmly. "But, come, what is this great thing that is to ruin him?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Eh, my friend, immensely!" smiled François, who spoke the mere truth, for all he took care to speak it very carelessly.
"I'll tell you this much, it's not a political matter—it's a private matter, and a public man's private character is everything."