It was the third time he had said it, and there was a crescendo of meaning in the phrase he whispered:
"You are a clever little devil!"
LE DIABLE
We were a gathering of diplomacy, science, and beauty. Monsieur Roché, the Premier, the first, Monsieur Vicenne, the Minister of Marine, the second, and it was I who completed the trio.
"I have offered five million francs!" Monsieur Vicenne exclaimed, with a gesture as though he had mentioned the total of the Treasury of the Republic.
"But that is not so very much, monsieur," I ventured to suggest, "if the invention be all that is pretended for it."
"Five million francs!" he ejaculated again, with wide-opened eyes, until I feared that his eyebrows would altogether disappear into his bushy hair.
"It is the method of calculating that is at fault," I said. "Five million francs. It sounds stupendous; but what is it? In Napoleons, merely two hundred and fifty thousand; in English sovereigns, only two hundred thousand. What do you really estimate the invention to be worth?"
"It is priceless. Mon Dieu! Imagine." The dear man always spoke in this staccato manner. "A boat—a submarine boat. Sixty knots an hour. Mon Dieu! If we—if France could possess it. England! Bah!" He snapped his fingers disdainfully.