“And I my fortune,” he answered, serenely.
“We travel by the same road, then. Have you a fragment of bread on you, comrade?”
“If I had a loaf thou shouldst go wanting a crumb of it.”
“And why, citizen?”
“I do not love spies.”
I fetched a grimace over my miscarried ruse.
“Then wilt thou never make thy fortune in France,” I said.
He gave a harsh laugh.
“You will prevent me for that word, citizen.”
I curled myself up under the tree.