The Count swore a deep oath. “The rogues are very wily; but, my dear fellow if you are ready, we will defy the storm together.”
De Clinchain felt a cold tremor pass through his whole frame at this proposal.
“Not I,” said he; “do not try and persuade me. If you have come to this decision, let me know at once, and I will go home and finish it all with a pistol bullet.”
He was just the sort of nervous, timorous man to do exactly as he said, and would sooner have killed himself than endure all kinds of annoyance, which might impair his digestion.
“Very well,” answered his friend, with sullen resignation, “then I will give in.”
De Clinchain heaved a deep sigh of relief, for he, not knowing what had passed before, had expected to have had a much more difficult task in persuading his friend.
“You are acting like a reasonable man for once in your life,” said he.
“You think so, because I give ear to your timorous advice. A thousand curses on that idiotic habit of yours of putting on paper not only your own secrets, but those of others.”
But at this remark Clinchain mounted his hobby.
“Do not talk like that,” said he. “Had you not committed the act, it would not have appeared in my diary.”