"I save her?" Monsieur Pantan's tone suggested that the idea was deliciously absurd.
"Yes, yes, yes," cried Bonticu, catching at a straw. "You alone. She has the Perigord pip, Monsieur."
"Ah, indeed."
"Yes, one cannot doubt it."
"Most amusing."
"You are cruel, Monsieur," cried Bonticu. "She suffers, ah, how she suffers."
"She will not suffer long," said Pantan, coldly.
There was a sob in Bonticu's voice as he said:
"I entreat Monsieur to save her. I entreat him as a sportsman."
In the window Monsieur Pantan seemed to be thinking deeply.