Fitzgerald saw the drift and bent forward. The admiral fumed because his Italian was an indifferent article.
"But," pursued M. Ferraud, "we will pay you twenty francs the day, just the same."
"We are promised." Carlo shrugged and spread his hands, but the glitter in his questioner's eyes disquieted him.
"What's this about?" growled the admiral.
"The man says he must take us back to-morrow, or leave us, as he has promised to return to Ajaccio to carry a party to Bonifacio," M. Ferraud explained.
"Then, if we don't go to-morrow it means a week in this forsaken hole?"
"It is possible." M. Ferraud turned to Carlo once more. "We will make it fifty francs per day."
"Impossible, signore!"
"Then you will return to-morrow without us."
Carlo's face hardened. "But—"