“Oh, yes, you will,” he corrected; “you shall not be murdered, I will see to that—only prettily executed.”
“There is a difference, then?” I questioned, with irony.
“All the difference in the world,” he answered with conviction. “The one is irregular and apt to be bungled; it is done without authority and without method, and is often needlessly prolonged. The other is carefully planned and quickly carried out; all unpleasantness is avoided——”
“Oh, it is!” I broke in with a little laugh. “I am glad to know that!”
“Citizen, you surprise me!” protested Dubosq; and I saw that he was in earnest. “I thought you more of a philosopher. Since this is the end, why worry about it?”
“I will try not to,” I said; “but at twenty-one the end comes rather early.”
“True,” he agreed, and gazed at me contemplatively; “I had forgot that you were so young.”
“At any rate, I thank you for your interest,” I said.
“Perhaps it is misplaced;” and he looked at me, frowning heavily. “So you were an accomplice of the ci-devant Favras, after all. You lied very prettily that morning, citizen—and I would have sworn that you were fresh from the nursery. That’s one on old Dubosq.”
“Not in the least,” I protested. “I did not lie—I had never seen Favras before. He took my horse by force, as I related to you; but I found him awaiting me at the next town. He restored my horse to me and insisted that I spend the night at his château.”