“That is easy,” he said. “I take him food to-day.”
“Then I was right,” said I, laughing. “He is a Belleville rat, who cannot feed himself where there are no pockets to pick. Does he know a languste from a linnet? Not he, my friend!”
The Lizard sat still, head bent, knees drawn up, apparently buried in thought. There is no injury one can do a Breton of his class like the injury of deceiving and mocking.
If Tric-Trac, a man of the city, had come here to profit by the ignorance of a Breton—and perhaps laugh at his stupidity!
But I let the ferment work in the dark blood of the Lizard, leaving him to his own sombre logic, undisturbed.
Presently the Lizard raised his head and fixed his bright, intelligent eyes on me.
“M’sieu,” he said, in a curiously gentle voice, “we men of Paradise are called out for the army. I must go, or go to jail. How can I remain here and help you trap these filous?”
“I have telegraphed to General Chanzy,” I said, frankly. “If he accepts—or if General Aurelles de Palladine is favorable—I shall make you exempt under 238 authority from Tours. I mean to keep you in my service, anyway,” I added.
“You mean that—that I need not go to Lorient—to this war?”
“I hope so, my friend.”