But neither Paulet nor M. Moche had any warlike intentions; the two malefactors had made up their minds it was to their mutual advantage to help one another.
“As a fact, you are a mason by trade, Paulet, aren’t you?”
“H’m, that depends ...”
“Could you undertake to build a wall, a stone wall, a brick wall, a lath and plaster partition, any guess contraption of the sort?”
“Bless my soul, yes,” laughed Paulet, “provided you give me the needful supply of stone or brick or plaster and lime for the job.”
Moche clapped his arm on Paulet’s shoulder:
“Well, my boy, that settles it; there’s not a minute to lose, I engage from to-night.”
Nini Guinon, who had been waiting the result of the colloquy with no small anxiety, Nini, whose gaze fixed first on one, then on the other of the speakers, tender and passionate on Paulet, questioning and admiring on M. Moche, and who had kept her curiosity forcibly in check for all this time, could no longer restrain the question:
“But what are you going to do?”
Moche looked first at her, then at Paulet: