“The hole is not six feet deep, mademoiselle. His pain is all upon his nerves.”
She gave a whimper of relief. Then her face fell cold again.
“It follows that we must forego our dinner. Will monsieur release the victim of my gluttony?”
I jumped into the hole—hoisted out the small squeaker—returned to the surface.
“Bon jour, monsieur!” said Carinne.
“You will dismiss me hungry, mademoiselle?”
“What claim have you upon me?”
“The claim of fraternity, citoyenne.”
She uttered a little laugh of high disdain.
“Well, rob me,” she said, “and prove yourself a true Republican.”