Some minutes afterwards the mules were unloaded, the horses unsaddled, and the attendants, enveloped in their ponchos, were sleeping, stretched before the watch fires.
Émile rejoined his companions—anxious and stationary at the place where he had left them—carelessly twirling a cigarette of maize straw between his nervous fingers.
But his countenance was pale, and his eyes had a sombre expression. On his road he found his arms, and again took possession of them.
"You have done wonders," said M. Dubois to him, grasping his hand with gratitude.
"No," answered he, with a sweet and calm smile; "only I remembered the word of Danton."
"What word?"
"Boldness. It is only with boldness we can tame wild beasts; and what are men if not savage beasts?"
"But you risked your life?"
"Have I not said that a long while ago I made that sacrifice? But do not attach, I beg you, more importance to this affair than it really deserves. Everything depended on a firm and prompt resolution. These men were prepared for theft—not for assassination. That is the secret of the matter."
"Do not seek to lower the value of an action of which I shall preserve an ever grateful memory."