He bent towards his victim and added:
"Still, it's a chap's duty to provide for everything. If, by chance you think better of it, if you have an inspiration at the last moment, you have only to call me, quite softly. . . . There, I'm loosening your gag a bit. . . . Good-bye, Théodore."
Velmot pushed the boat back and landed, grumbling:
"It's a dog's life! What a fool the brute is!"
As arranged, he sat down again, after bringing the chair and table to the water's edge, poured himself out a glass of liqueur and lit his pipe:
"Here's to your good health, Massignac," he said. "At the present rate, I can see that, in twenty minutes from now, you'll be having a drink too. Whatever you do, don't forget to call me. I'm listening for all I'm worth, old chum."
The moon had become veiled with clouds, which must have been very dense, for the bank grew so dark that I could hardly distinguish Velmot's figure. As a matter of fact, I was persuaded that the implacable contest would end in some compromise and that Velmot would give way or Massignac speak. Nevertheless, ten or perhaps fifteen minutes passed, minutes which seemed to me interminable. Velmot smoked quietly and Massignac gave a series of little whimpers, but did not call out. Five minutes more. Velmot rose angrily:
"It's no use whining, you blasted fool! I've had enough of messing about. Will you speak? No? Then die, you scamp!"
And I heard him snarling between his teeth:
"Perhaps I shall manage better with the other one."