Raoul Genet, studying the flushed, bright-eyed, unsteady youth, put up a hand to cover a little smile, half ironic, half pitying.
"So, Habib ben Habib, you revert! Camel-driver's talk in your mouth and camel's-hide slippers on your feet. Already you revert! Eh?"
"No, that is not the truth. But I am in need of a friend."
"You look like a ghost, Habib." The faint smile still twisted Raoul's lips. "Or a drunken angel. You have not slept."
"That's of no importance. I tell you I am in need—"
"You've not had coffee, Habib. When you've had coffee—"
"Coffee! My God! Raoul, that you go on talking of coffee when life and death are in the balance! For I can't live without—Listen, now! Strictly! I have need to-night—to-morrow night—one night when it is dark—I have need of the garrison car."
The other made a blowing sound. "I'm the commandant, am I, overnight? Zut! The garrison car!" Habib took hold of his arm and held it tight. "If not the car, two horses, then. And I call you my friend."
"Two horses! Ah! So! I begin to perceive. Youth! Youth!"
"Don't jibe, Raoul! I have need of two horses—two horses that are fast and strong."