“That is as far as I have got, monsieur.”
“Oh, you have not fixed on the end of your play yet?”
“No, monsieur.”
“But surely, M. Ferminard, the end is the most important thing in a play?”
Ferminard coughed, irritated, as all geniuses are by criticism.
“Why,” said he, “I thought monsieur said he could not tell a play from a washing-bill.”
“Perhaps, yet even in a washing-bill, M. Ferminard, the end is the most important part, since it sums up the whole matter in francs and sous. But do not let me discourage you, for should you fail to find a good ending I will be able to supply you with one. An idea has occurred to me.”
“And what is that idea, monsieur?”
“I have, yet, to think it out. However, go on with your business in your own way and we will talk of the matter when you have finished. I wish now to sleep.”
He felt irritated with Ferminard. Ferminard was the man who possessed the rope which was the only means of escape, and Ferminard, he felt, would refuse the rope to him, just as he had refused the big sou. By using arguments, threats, or entreaties he might be able to make Ferminard give him the rope, but he was not the man to threaten, entreat, or argue with an inferior. Besides, he was too lazy. The cutting of the window-bar was absorbing all his energies.