"Nearly the end."
"Nearly!" exclaimed Hilaire with a profound sigh.
"Well, what about it? What's the matter now?"
"It's this 'nearly.' You said 'nearly,' Monsieur Casimir. Now I confess that this 'nearly' scares me. In the old days when you, Monsieur le Marquis . . . had 'nearly' finished a job we had enough in hand to last a week!"
"What a pity. And all this fuss over a peddler of rugs," growled Chéri-Bibi.
"A peddler of rugs?"
"Yes, a man from Tunis whom they call the Caid, and who lugs about on his shoulder all day a bundle of rugs—a nigger of no importance."
"Oh, if that's all it is!" exclaimed Hilaire. "I fancy I see him now—one of those 'me never ill and never die' sort."
"Let him say it," snorted Chéri-Bibi fiercely.
"What do you mean, 'let him say it?'"