“Never mind, I want it, that’s all.”
“But think; seventy-five thousand dollars!”
“I want it for a few days. Just the money—myself—I—is it not mine?”
Some one in the next compartment rose, and put his ear to the partition. The voices were low, but he could hear them well. Listening intently, his eyes seemed to sink into his head, and burn there darkly.
“Well, so it is,” concluded Jacques. “I will get it for you. But we’ll have to do the thing quietly, very quietly. I’ll drive out to Viger to-morrow night, say. I’ll meet you at that vacant field next the church, at eleven, and the money will be there.”
The listener in the next compartment withdrew hastily, and mingled with the crowd at the bar. That night he wandered out to Viger. He observed the church and the vacant lot, and saw that there were here and there hollows under the sidewalk, where a man might crouch.
He afterward wandered about for a while, and found himself in front of the old farm-house. A side window of the second story was filled with the flicker of a fire. A ladder leaned against the wall and ran up past the window. He hesitated whether to ascend the gallery-steps or the ladder. He chose the ladder. With his foot on the lowest rung, he said:
“If I hadn’t this little scheme on hand I would go in, but—”
He went up the ladder and looked in at the window. Louis Bois was asleep before the fire. Fidele lay by his side. The man caught the dog’s eye.
Louis woke nervously, and saw a figure at the window. The only thing he discerned distinctly was a white sort of cap. In his sudden fear, seeking something to throw, he touched Fidele, and without thinking, he hurled him full at the man.