But at that Bertrand laid a nervous hand upon his arm. "My friend," he said, "you will not persuade him."
Max looked at him, and was confronted by eyes of gleaming resolution. "I believe I shall," he said. "I can persuade most people."
"You will not persuade him," Bertrand repeated. "That scélérat has poisoned his mind. Moreover, you do not even know what passed between us."
"I don't need to know," Max said curtly.
Bertrand began to smile. "And you think you can plead your sister's cause without knowing, hein? No, no! the affair is too much advanced. There is only one man who can help the little Christine now. He would not listen to you, mon cher, if you went. But—to me, he will listen, even though he believes me to be a thief; for he is very just. I know that I can make him understand. And for that I shall go to him to-morrow. As you say, we cannot let la petite fret."
He spoke quite quietly, but his eyes were shining with a fire that had not lit them for many a day.
"My dear chap, you can't go. You're not fit for it." Max spoke with quick decision. "I won't let you go, so there's an end of it."
But Bertrand laughed. "So? But I am more fit than you think, mon ami. Also it is my affair, this, and none but I can accomplish it. See, I start in the morning, and by this hour to-morrow I shall be with him."
"Folly! Madness!" Max said.
But indomitable resolution still shone in the Frenchman's eyes. "Listen to me, Max," he said. "If I spend my last breath thus, why not? I have not the least desire to cling to life. And is that madness? I love la petite more than all. And is that folly? Why should I not give the strength that is still in me to accomplish the desire of my heart? Is mortal life so precious to those who have nothing for which to live?"