"Keep it back," exclaimed Lenoir hurriedly.
"What for?"
"It is sheer madness for us to be seen conversing together," replied Lenoir, casting an anxious glance about him from behind his hat, which he held in his hand so as to shield his features, "much less to be seen exchanging money—why, it is suicidal—nothing less."
"Is there any danger, do you think?"
"Do I think? Do I know? Why, this place is literally alive with spies—mouchards as we called them here. Every second man you meet is a mouchard."
"Do you mean it?"
"Rather."
"That's not a pleasant thing to know," said Markby.
"I don't agree with you there," replied Lenoir. "'Forewarned, forearmed,' is a proverb in your language. But now tell me about this friend and countryman of yours."
"He's no friend of mine," returned Markby. "I know him as a great traveller, and one who has opportunities of placing more false——"