“I forbid you ever to allude to this evening’s work,” cried Raoul fiercely. “Do you hear me? I wish to forget it.”
Clameran shrugged his shoulders at this outburst of anger, and said in a bantering tone:
“Just as you please, my handsome nephew: I rather think you will want to remember it though, when I offer you these three hundred and fifty thousand francs. You will not, I am sure, refuse to accept them as a slight souvenir. Take them: they are yours.”
This generosity seemed neither to surprise nor satisfy Raoul.
“According to our agreement,” he said sullenly, “I was to have more than this.”
“Of course: this is only part of your share.”
“And when am I to have the rest, if you please?”
“The day I marry Madeleine, and not before, my boy. You are too valuable an assistant to lose at present; and you know that, though I don’t mistrust you, I am not altogether sure of your sincere affection for me.”
Raoul reflected that to commit a crime, and not profit by it, would be the height of absurdity. He had come with the intention of breaking off all connection with Clameran; but he now determined that he would not abandon his accomplice until he had been well paid for his services.
“Very well,” he said, “I accept this on account; but remember, I will never do another piece of work like this to-night. You can do what you please; I shall flatly refuse.”