Garnache received a sudden inspiration. He leapt to his feet, his face convulsed as if at the horror of learning of a hitherto undreamt-of state of things. He never paused to give a moment’s consideration to the cut-throat’s mind, so wonderfully constituted as to enable him to break with impunity every one of the commandments every day of the week for the matter of a louis d’or or two, and yet be afflicted by qualms of conscience at living under a roof upon which the Church had hurled her malediction.
“What are you saying, compatriot? What is it that you tell me?”
“The truth,” said Arsenio, with a shrug. “Any man who wilfully abides in the services of Condillac”—and instinctively he lowered his voice lest the Captain or the Marquise should be within earshot—, “is excommunicate.”
“By the Host!” swore the false Piedmontese. “I am a Christian man myself, Arsenio, and I have lived in ignorance of this thing?”
“That ignorance may be your excuse. But now that you know—” Arsenio shrugged his shoulders.
“Now that I know, I had best have a care of my soul and look about me for other employment.”
“Alas!” sighed Arsenio; “it is none so easy to find.”
Garnache looked at him. Garnache began to have in his luck a still greater faith than hitherto. He glanced stealthily around; then he sat down again, so that his mouth was close to Arsenio’s ear.
“The pay is beggarly here, yet I have refused a fortune offered me by another that I might remain loyal to my masters at Condillac. But this thing that you tell me alters everything. By the Host! yes.”
“A fortune?” sneered Arsenio.