"My dear Aymar, after that fever—itself the result of a night in the open!"
"I assure you," replied Aymar, dropping his head on to his hand, "that I don't care if I get a hundred fevers. I am not going any farther. I . . . can't."
Laurent stood looking down at him in dismay. L'Oiseleur's courage failing him at last! What on earth was he to do?
"Let us go to the inn at Port-Marie then—if there is one—and risk it," suggested he in some desperation.
"You mean that you would run the risk for my sake? I have already been told that I allow you to carry your devotion too far. No; go to your cave by yourself; I will find it in the morning—perhaps."
"I wish M. Perrelet had minded his own business!" said Laurent sharply. "Come on, Aymar!"
"I tell you I am going no farther. Leave me, for God's sake!"
"Don't be absurd! How can you imagine that I should do such a thing?"
Aymar made a dimly seen gesture. "It's all I ask! . . . Leave me—leave me! You would if you knew!"
And, as by a fleet arrow, Laurent was transfixed by annoyance. If only he did know instead of having to listen to these eternal hints and innuendoes!