“Yes, I know.”
“And when I was in the circus those two rascals used to take me with them sometimes on their robbing expeditions and make me keep watch and help to carry off the stolen things. I was frightened to death at what they made me do—too frightened to refuse to go with them. I never knew of their killing anybody, except Count Delorme, but that night they waylaid him in the dark, I swear to you—oh! God, I swear to you a million times—I never touched Count Delorme. I thought they were going to rob him only—I did not dream they were going to kill him. But he resisted when they tried to get his money, and Nicolas struck him a blow and he fell over. And they put a twenty-franc piece in my pocket and swore that I had killed him and robbed him. Then I determined to get away from them and so, when I was conscripted, I could have got off because I was the only son of a widow, but I thought if I were in the army I might escape them and I meant then to hunt for you and to tell you all about it. And I thought I had escaped them—oh! how happy I was—but they turned up as you know and I have not had a moment’s peace since. Two weeks ago they forced me to go with them—”
“‘Forced you to go with them!’” said Paul indignantly. “Toni, you are the greatest coward.”
“I know it,” replied Toni. “I always was. And they told me that they meant to kill you and we played a game of cards to determine whether they should do it or I—I—think of it! Of course I lost, and they promised me if I didn’t kill you that I should be killed. And they told me to drop out of the ranks and that you would come after me, and they put this knife where I could find it.” Toni drew it from his bosom. It was an ordinary table knife, but of well-tempered steel and as sharp as a razor. “And I was to kill you and leave your body here where it could not be found for several hours—and make the best of my way off. Of course, I should have been caught and guillotined, but what did they care about that?”
Toni turned and threw the knife as far as he could into the bosky thicket behind him. Paul Verney, who was as quiet as a lamb and as brave as a lion, looked at Toni sorrowfully.
“I think I can get rid of those two rapscallions in time,” he said, “get them sent to Algiers. But they will have to come back sometime.”
“That’s what I know,” said Toni. “We are under sentence of death, Paul, and it is all my fault.”
The ghost of a smile came into Paul Verney’s face.
“No,” he answered, “not exactly your fault, Toni. You were born that way, so you can’t help yourself.”
“And we are both so happy,” cried Toni, and at this he burst into a passion of tears, sobbing as he had not sobbed since he was a small boy and his mother had the rheumatism and he thought she was going to die. Paul turned his back and walked up and down in front of Toni for a minute or two, and when he spoke his voice was husky.