Coming out of the house, Patrice saw no more sparks. They were hidden behind the trees. He walked along the boulevard and, to save time, went by the Ceinture railway to the Avenue Henri-Martin. Here he turned down the Rue de la Tour, which runs to Passy.
On the way he kept talking to Ya-Bon about what he had in his mind, though he well knew that the negro did not understand much of what he said. But this was a habit with him. Ya-Bon, first his comrade-in-arms and then his orderly, was as devoted to him as a dog. He had lost a limb on the same day as his officer and was wounded in the head on the same day; he believed himself destined to undergo the same experiences throughout; and he rejoiced at having been twice wounded just as he would have rejoiced at dying at the same time as Captain Belval. On his side, the captain rewarded this humble, dumb devotion by unbending genially to his companion; he treated him with an ironical and sometimes impatient humor which heightened the negro’s love for him. Ya-Bon played the part of the passive confidant who is consulted without being regarded and who is made to bear the brunt of his interlocutor’s hasty temper.
“What do you think of all this, Master Ya-Bon?” asked the captain, walking arm-in-arm with him. “I have an idea that it’s all part of the same business. Do you think so too?”
Ya-Bon had two grunts, one of which meant yes, the other no. He grunted out:
“Yes.”
“So there’s no doubt about it,” the officer declared, “and we must admit that Little Mother Coralie is threatened with a fresh danger. Is that so?”
“Yes,” grunted Ya-Bon, who always approved, on principle.
“Very well. It now remains to be seen what that shower of sparks means. I thought for a moment that, as we had our first visit from the Zeppelins a week ago . . . are you listening to me?”
“Yes.”
“I thought that it was a treacherous signal with a view to a second Zeppelin visit . . .”