"Therefore, I was right: it means war."
"Yes."
Altenheim gave Sernine a chair, sat down himself and said, in a conciliatory tone:
"Well, no, I cannot allow that. It is impossible that two men like ourselves should fight and injure each other. We have only to come to an explanation, to seek the means: you and I were made to understand each other."
"I think, on the contrary, that two men like ourselves are not made to understand each other."
The baron suppressed a movement of impatience and continued:
"Listen to me, Lupin. . . . By the way, do you mind my calling you Lupin?"
"What shall I call you? Altenheim, Ribeira, or Parbury?"
"Oho! I see that you are even better posted than I thought! . . . Hang it all, but you're jolly smart! . . . All the more reason why we should agree." And, bending toward him, "Listen, Lupin, and ponder my words well; I have weighed them carefully, every one. Look here. . . . We two are evenly matched. . . . Does that make you smile? You are wrong: it may be that you possess resources which I do not; but I have others of which you know nothing. Moreover, as you are aware, I have few scruples, some skill and a capacity for changing my personality which an expert like yourself ought to appreciate. In short, the two adversaries are each as good as the other. But one question remains unanswered: why are we adversaries? We are pursuing the same object, you will say? And what then? Do you know what will come of our rivalry? Each of us will paralyze the efforts and destroy the work of the other; and we shall both miss our aim! And for whose benefit? Some Lenormand or other, a third rogue! . . . It's really too silly."
"It's really too silly, as you say," Sernine admitted. "But there is a remedy."