“They seek my service only, as yet. They might seek yours were I to speak for you.”
“And you will, compatriot. You will, will you not? We are comrades, we are friends, and we are fellow-countrymen in a strange land. There is nothing I would not do for you, Battista. Look, I would die for you if there should come the need! Body of Bacchus! I would. I am like that when I love a man.”
Garnache patted his shoulder. “You are a good fellow, Arsenio.”
“And you will speak for me?”
“But you do not know the nature of the service,” said Garnache. “You may refuse it when it is definitely offered you.”
“Refuse fifty pistoles? I should deserve to be the pauper that I am if such had been my habits. Be the service what it may, my conscience pricks me for serving Condillac. Tell me how the fifty pistoles are to be earned, and you may count upon me to put my hand to anything.”
Garnache was satisfied. But he told Arsenio no more that day, beyond assuring him he would speak for him and let him know upon the morrow. Nor on the morrow, when they returned to the subject at Arsenio’s eager demand, did Garnache tell him all, or even that the service was mademoiselle’s. Instead he pretended that it was some one in Grenoble who needed two such men as they.
“Word has been brought me,” he said mysteriously. “You must not ask me how.”
“But how the devil are we to reach Grenoble? The Captain will never let us go,” said Arsenio, in an ill-humour.
“On the night that you are of the watch, Arsenio, we will depart together without asking the Captain’s leave. You shall open the postern when I come to join you here in the courtyard.”