“Beaumagnan is a man,” she said.
“Well, I will make war on men; and I really believe that that’s what I’m cut out for, for conquest, for the extraordinary and the fabulous. I feel that there is no situation from which I cannot emerge with honor. And it is tempting to fight when one is sure of victory, isn’t it, Josine?”
Along the narrow streets on the left bank of the Seine the cab made its way at a good pace. They crossed the river.
“And from to-day I shall be victorious, Josine! I have all the trumps in my hand. In a few hours I reach Lillebonne. I unearth the Widow Rousselin, and, whether she like it or not, I examine the sandalwood casket on which the key-word is carved; and there we are. With that word and with the names of the seven abbeys, it will indeed be odd if I don’t carry off the cup!”
Josephine laughed at his enthusiasm. He was exultant. He told her about his duel with Beaumagnan, kissed her, cocked snooks at the people they passed, opened the window and jeered at the cabman because his horse trotted like a snail.
“Make him gallop, old idiot! What? You have the honor of driving in your chariot the god of Fortune and the queen of beauty and your steed doesn’t gallop!”
The cab went along the Avenue de l’Opéra. It took the short-cut through the Rue des Petit-Champs and the Rue des Capucines. In the Rue Caumartin the horse did break into a gallop.
“Splendid!” cried Ralph. “Twelve to five; and we’re nearly there. Of course it’s understood that you come with me to Lillebonne?”
“Whatever for? There’s no point in it. It’s sufficient for one of us to go,” she replied.
“As you like,” said Ralph. “You trust me and you know that I shall not betray that trust and that we are allies—the victory of the one is the victory of the other.”