“No, no; pardon me, monsieur,” said Lafarge more eagerly than was good for the play, “I am glad to confer with you, you will understand—you will understand—” He paused.
“What will I understand?”
“You will understand that I understand!” Lafarge waved meaningly towards the Ninety-Nine, but it had no effect at all. Joan would not give the game over into his hands.
“That sounds like a charade or a puzzle game. We are gentlemen on a serious errand, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” answered Lafarge, “perfect gentlemen on a perfectly serious errand!”
“Very well, m’sieu’. Have you come to surrender?” The splendid impudence of the thing stunned Lafarge, but he said: “I suppose one or the other ought to surrender; and naturally,” he added with slow point, “it should be the weaker.”
“Very well. Our captain is willing to consider conditions. You came down on us to take us—a quiet craft sailing in free waters. You attack us without cause. We summon all hands, and you run. We follow, you ask for truce. It is granted. We are not hard—no. We only want our rights. Admit them; we’ll make surrender easy, and the matter is over.”
Lafarge gasped. She was forcing his hand. She would not understand his oblique suggestions. He saw only one way now, and that was to meet her, boast for boast.
“I haven’t come to surrender,” he said, “but to demand.”
“M’sieu’,” Joan said grandly, “there’s nothing more to say. Carry word to your captain that we’ll overhaul him by sundown, and sink him before supper.”