"Come, now; I must have the whole story. What the mischief has this fine gentleman done to thee? I am out of patience with thy tiresome mysteries. I know him; we have met before. Perhaps I can help thee."
"Thou?"
Pierre lay back on the floor, and covered his face.
"Mon Dieu!" he cried, "why wilt thou force me to talk of it? Oh, to hate, and to be afraid!" He started up. "I am afraid."
"If I hated a man," said François, "sacré bleu! I would twist his neck."
"If I could! if I could! I am not like thee. I am—am a coward. That's the truth."
"Dame! that is curious." He regarded the fat little man with attentive eyes. "Suppose we have it all out, and get done with it."
"Done with it?"
"Yes; done with it! Hast thou often had these fits before?"
"Yes; and then I am better for a while."