Ronsard's eyes had not left the document half crumpled in Pierre's fist. His voice had a bracing echo. A returning wave of unhealthy strength warned Pierre to action.
"Yes!" he cried, swaying across the table, holding out the paper and shaking it up and down. "I've done it! What you wanted! Sold my honor to Hell for it! Quick! Quick! America! The war!"
Pierre's head, not yet balanced by the stealthy drug, reeled, and the large envelope dropped on the table. Ronsard recognized the great Cabinet seal. With a wolfish twitching at the corners of the mouth, which his utmost effort could not control, he slowly pushed his hand across the polished mahogany. Then two currents of thought met, and he paused. The fretfulness, the lax instability of flesh, were gone. He sat stiff, a compact mass, in his broad chair. One could see that behind the ample jowl stretched a great square bone.
"First, what is it, Pierre?" he repeated coldly.
Pierre rocked in his seat. "A state paper—of utmost import—signed by Grubb and Todd and all the Japanese!—It means alliance!—I saw them all as I crouched in the garden. Read it, quick! The wax is hardly set."
Ronsard's mouth watered, but his brain grew firm. "Wonderful! Past belief!" he said. "But tell me how did Monsieur—obtain possession?" He was measuring the depth of Pierre's insanity, gazing desperately for signs of returning judgment. "Is it safe for me?" he continued quietly.
"Good God, man!" cried Pierre. "Here I win you, with my life, perhaps, the very key to this war—to history for all time—and you prate about safety! Is war safe? Is anything safe?"
Ronsard's voice came low and stinging. "Tell me! Where—and how—did you get it?"
Pierre was too over-wrought to lie, even had he dared. He swaggered. He stretched forth a hand and snatched the paper defiantly. "I took it—yes, from the body of Prince Haganè! Glorious, wasn't it? Mon Dieu! Think of it! In his official residence!"
"It means the Cross of the Legion of Honor," said Mouquin, weakly, against the door.