“Who but the dog that hath disowned us, and the—woman that hath replaced!”
“The woman! she of the white hands? Why, she was up yonder not twice as long ago!”
“I cannot help that. You should have kept her there. If you let her go, you were the fool.”
“I had nothing to do with it. She went down to plead for her lover.”
“A pretty pleading! I don’t doubt she’s like them all—caught by a title. Anyhow springed she was and is, and held at this moment as fast as Church can bind her.”
Cartouche laughed recklessly.
“Well,” said he, “man proposes, but woman disposes. Our best-laid plans are nothing without the collusion of the party planned against. We must carry our wits to a fresh market.”
Bonito, with a fearful blasphemy, hit out into the air.
“I know my market!” he screamed, “I know my market!” and ran raging up the road. Cartouche turned his face to the hill once more.
A little way up he met Saint-Péray, pale and exalted, descending at last. He stood in his path.