Jules and Le Grand filled their pipes; Le Grand struck a light, and its sheen was bright as he held it to the bowl; he passed it to Verbaux, and the two smoked quietly, watching the uncertain waters that merged into total darkness out there beyond them.
“Vat for toi comme?” Le Grand asked then slowly.
“To fin’ Marie!” Jules whispered.
“Bon!” and Le Grand nodded.
“She ees bien?” Verbaux breathed deeply and looked at Le Grand hard.
The latter nodded again. “She vait for toi, Verbaux! Ah tol’ Marie Ah comme for to fin’ toi h’aga’n; mais,” and he chuckled softly, “toi comme fin’ me! C’est bon!” he repeated.
The two smoked on, silent both. The wind fell away gradually, the leaves were still, the clouds had gone, and the moon shone unrestrained in all its power, creating black shadows and distances, harshening outlines, softening the vague shades that lay on the two men. Insects hummed, and little animals seeking their food travelled through the thick underbrush with suggestive cracklings.
“Dam’!” Le Grand said as he slapped his face, “dat mosquit’ he bit’ harrd!” And Verbaux smiled.
“Le Grand, Ah vant h’ask toi somme t’ing important!” he said.
“Qu’est?” asked the other, taking his pipe from his mouth.