"Where is it to be? What is the rendezvous? What are those conditions?" cried several voices.
The strong leader obtained silence, and said: "I can tell you at once; Berteaux wants to sell his place by private treaty next week, and he will take us from to-morrow."
"For how many days?" broke in a silent man who had not yet spoken.
"A full week," said the leader.
"Well, that's good enough," said the dark man sullenly.
"Yes, but the point is," said the leader, "there is another offer: the new railway station wants to start a meal at a fixed price."
"It will be better cooking," said the red-haired Symbolist doubtfully.
"You are right," answered the leader, a little wearily, "but it is one of their conditions that one should eat at the absurd hour of half-past five, and hurry through the meal exclaiming all the while chance things about the express to Toulouse, and noting the rapidity of the service."
"I will never do that!" said the red-headed man firmly, amid murmurs of approval. "If I must eat their deathly stuff I will eat it, but I will not be hurried into the bargain; and half-past five is the hour for poisons, not for food. Absinthe is mine."
"No, Berteaux is the man," said the leader with a sigh. He put it to the vote, as is the fashion with the French. There was a large majority for Berteaux.