"Talk over the matter!" said the count. "Of what use would that be?"
"To prevent killing one another like brutes without knowing why," answered the painter.
"A traitor merits death."
"I agree with you; but I am not a traitor, since I make myself known to you, when it would have been easy to remain silent until I had discovered all your secrets."
This observation—very reasonable for that matter—appeared to produce a certain impression on the two men.
"Then, why these arms?" continued the count, in a tone evidently mollified.
"To avoid what would have happened had I not taken the precaution to furnish myself with them."
"You are not a spy upon us, then?"
"By no means; in fact, I was here a good while before you. The sound of your conversation awakened me from a light slumber into which I had fallen, and not caring to be, against your will, a confidant in your secrets, I have decided to warn you."
"Who can prove it?" sternly pursued the count.