She answered sharply.
“You can’t get on without me. Isn’t that so?”
He put an arm round her.
“That’s the truth. You know how to mix the drinks.”
“So that is to be my job?”
“I want all of them mad on Sunday. I shall want old Cordonnier well fuddled and in a state to swear anything. What’s the best stuff for it?”
She reflected, leaning her chin on the palm of her hand.
“There is that jar of cognac. It is fiery stuff. I could mix it with the wine. What are you going to do?”
“I keep that card up my sleeve.”
“You must tell me,” she said; “I shan’t give you away.”