He hesitated whether to answer me, but there was a cruel smile on his thin lips.
“Faith, I do not know. ’Tis like to be a court-martial at the Rock, if ever we get him there; though the chances are the fellow will take to the woods when he finds himself suspected. No doubt the best thing I can do will be to say nothing until we hold him safe, though ’tis hard to pretend with such a villain.”
He paused, as if hoping I might speak, and my silence angered him.
“Bah, if I had my way the young cockerel would face a file at our first camp. Ay! and it will be for you to decide if he does not.”
“What is your meaning, Monsieur?”
“That I am tired of your play-acting; of your making eyes at this forest dandy behind my back. Sang Dieu! I am done with all this––do you hear?––and I have a grip now which will make you think twice, my dear, before you work any more sly tricks on me. Sacre, you think me easy, hey? I have in my hand so,” and he opened and closed his fingers suggestively, “the life of the lad.”