“Perhaps you are right,” he admitted, after a pause. “You seem to be taking to the position very kindly, Barebone. But I do not mind, you know. It does not matter what we say to each other, eh? We have been good friends so long. You must do as you like. And if you succeed, I must be content to leave my share of the matter to your consideration. You certainly seem to know the business already, and some day perhaps you will remember who taught you to be a King.”
“It was an old North Sea skipper who taught me that,” replied Barebone. “That is one of the things I learnt at sea.”
“Yes—yes,” agreed Colville, almost nervously. “And you will go on with the thing, will you not? Like a good fellow, eh? Think about it till to-morrow morning. I will go now. Which is my candle? Yes. You will think about it. Do not jump to any hasty decision.”
He hurried to the door as he spoke. He could not understand Barebone at all.
“If I do go on with it,” was the reply, “it will not be in response to any of your arguments. It will be only and solely for the sake of France.”
“Yes—of course,” agreed Colville, and closed the door behind him.
In his own room he turned and looked toward the door leading through to that from which he had hurriedly escaped. He passed his hand across his face, which was white and moist.
“For the sake of France!” he echoed in bewilderment. “For the sake of France! Gad! I believe he is the man after all.”