"I indeed believe I am right," said Croustillac. "I am wrong often enough once, by chance, to have common sense."
"But, for the love of heaven, at least look things in the face, if I accept," said the duke, taking both hands of Croustillac in his own. "You must conduct me and my wife on board the Chameleon; we will hoist sail and will be saved."
"All right, your highness, that is how I like to hear you speak!"
"Yes, we shall be saved, but you, unhappy man, you will return on the frigate with Chemerant, and when you are brought face to face with my friends, your ruse will be discovered and you will be lost!"
"Zounds! sir, how you go on! Without offending you, you then look upon me as a pitiful fellow; you deprive me of all imagination, of all ingenuity. If I am not mistaken, it is some distance to the Cayman's Creek, at Fort Royal?"
"About three leagues," said the duke.
"Very well, your highness, in this country three leagues are three hours, and in three hours a man like myself has at least six chances of escaping. I have long legs and strong as a stag's. The companion of Rend-your-Soul has taught me how to walk," replied the Gascon, smiling with a malicious air. "Now I swear to you that it will make the good Chemerant's escort take some pretty lively strides to keep up with me."
"And you desire that I should allow you to stake your life on a chance as doubtful as that of an escape, when thirty soldiers, used to the country, would instantly be on your track?" said the duke. "Never!"
"And you desire, your highness, that I place my life, my salvation on a chance as uncertain as the clemency of the good Chemerant?"
"At least I should not sacrifice you to a certainty, and the chances are equal," said the duke.