“Not at all,” replied Giraumont; “I worked only with Bouchard and two others since sent to the galleys. We were but a small fraternity—everything has its commencement.”
“C’est juste: buvez, donc, cher ami!”
The wine circulated. Gawtrey began again:
“You have had a bad accident, seemingly, Monsieur Giraumont. How did you lose your eye?”
“In a scuffle with the gens d’ armes the night Bouchard was taken and I escaped. Such misfortunes are on the cards.”
“C’est juste: buvez, donc, Monsieur Giraumont!”
Again there was a pause, and again Gawtrey’s deep voice was heard.
“You wear a wig, I think, Monsieur Giraumont? To judge by your eyelashes your own hair has been a handsomer colour.”
“We seek disguise, not beauty, my host; and the police have sharp eyes.”
“C’est juste: buvez, donc-vieux Renard! When did we two meet last?”