"Tell me where Geneviève is."
The baron shrugged his shoulders:
"You're driveling, Lupin. I'm sorry for you . . . at your age. . . ."
There was a fresh silence between the two enemies, a terrible silence. Then the baron sneered:
"All the same, it's a holy joy to see you like that, sniveling and begging. I say, it seems to me that the private soldier is giving his general a sound beating!"
"You ass!" muttered Sernine.
"Prince, I shall send you my seconds this evening . . . if you are still in this world."
"You ass!" repeated Sernine, with infinite contempt.
"You would rather settle the matter here and now? As you please, prince: your last hour has struck. You can commend your soul to God. You smile! That's a mistake. I have one immense advantage over you! I kill . . . when it's necessary. . . ."
"You ass!" said Sernine once more. He took out his watch. "It is two o'clock, baron. You have only a few minutes left. At five past two, ten past at the very latest, M. Weber and half-a-dozen sturdy men, without a scruple amongst them, will lay hands on you. . . . Don't you smile, either. The outlet on which you're reckoning is discovered; I know it: it is guarded. So you are thoroughly caught. It means the scaffold, old chap."