“Ah! if I could.”
“You can!”
“With safety?”
“Perfect safety.”
“And without committing,”—he fears to speak the ugly English word, but expresses the idea in French—“cette dernier coup?”
“Certainly! Who dreams of that? Not I, M’sieu.”
“But how is it to be avoided?”
“Easily.”
“Tell me, Father Rogier!”
“Not to-night, Murdock!”—he has dropped the distant M’sieu—“Not to-night. It’s a matter that calls for reflection—consideration, calm and careful. Time, too. Ten thousand livrés esterlies per annum! We must both ponder upon it—sleep nights, and think days, over it—possibly have to draw Coracle Dick into our deliberations. But not to-night—Pardieu! it’s ten o’clock! And I have business to do before going to bed. I must be off.”