"Get into the punt, anyway," said Warner, much perplexed.
Asticot turned and crept into the stern.
"Sit down!"
The young man squatted obediently. Warner shoved off, sprang aboard, and sent the punt shooting out across the misty water.
"So you don't want to murder me any more?" he asked humorously.
"No," said Asticot, with sullen but profound conviction.
"What's become of your delightful friend, Squelette?"
Asticot looked up, bared every tooth.
"Figurez-vous, M'sieu', a dragoon patrol caught him yesterday stealing a goose from a farm. Me, I hid in a willow tree. It's the Battalion of Biribi for Squelette—his class having been called a year ago—and he over the Belgian line with his fingers to his nose! Hé—hé!" laughed Asticot, writhing in the enjoyment of the prospect before his recent comrade. "Me, I have done my time in Biribi!—And the scars of it—God!—hot irons on the brain!—And the heart a cinder! Biribi! Is there a priest's hell like it?" He spat fiercely into the river.
"And Squelette, who always mocked me for the time I did in Biribi! Tenez, M'sieu', now they've caught him and he'll do a tour for himself in that dear Biribi! Hè—hè! C'est bien fait! Chacun à son tour! As for me——" His voice suddenly relapsed into a whine. "I shall now be well protected by M'sieu' and I shall be diligent and grateful in his service, ready always with brush and black soap or with knife and noose——"