“You know too much, M. Tantaine,—a great deal too much,” said he.
Perpignan’s manner was most threatening; but Tantaine still smiled pleasantly, like a child who had just committed some simply mischievous act, the results of which it cannot foresee.
“The sentence isn’t heavy,” he continued; “five years’ penal servitude, if evidence of previous good conduct could be put in; but if former antecedents were disclosed, such as a journey to Nancy——”
This was the last straw, and Perpignan broke out,—
“What do you mean?” said he; “and what do you want me to do?”
“Only a trifling service, as I told you before. My dear sir, do not put yourself in a rage,” he added, as Perpignan seemed disposed to speak again. “Was it not you who first began to talk of your, ‘em—well, let us say business?”
“Then you wanted to make yourself agreeable by talking all this rot to me. Well, shall I tell you in my turn what I think?”
“By all means, if it will not be giving you too much trouble.”
“Then I tell you that you have come here on an errand which no man should venture to do alone. You are not of the age and build for business like this. It is a misfortune—a fatal one perhaps—to put yourself in my power, in such a house as this.”
“But, my dear sir, what is likely to happen to me?”