"And the potatoes are going to sprout!"
They identified each other.
The two men were alone in this deserted corner of the garden; they drew closer together and began to converse.
"Are things still going well, Vagualame?"
"My faith, Monsieur Henri, that depends."...
The old accordion player cast a rapid penetrating glance at the countenance of his companion: it was done with the instinctive ease of habit.
The young man was leaning forward, tracing circles in the sand with his stick.
"What is the position, Vagualame?" he asked briefly.
"I have no more money, Lieutenant."
The young man sat upright and looked at the old man angrily.