“How absurd! A man cannot be always grinning.”
“No; but pâté de foie gras is not man’s ordinary meat,” retorted the General imperturbably. “My dear Guéneau.”
“Well?” said the other snappishly.
“You are in a mess; that is my opinion! Now, take my advice, and make a clean breast of the matter. You have some tie or other which weighs upon your mind and of which we are ignorant.”
The young man turned his face to his companion, and General Martianoff, albeit a very cool personage, was taken aback by the change which anger or some other emotion had worked in it. Even Gaston Guéneau’s voice was altered.
“And what if I have?” he asked hoarsely, stopping short so suddenly that the pair confronted one another. “What if I have, m’sieur?”
The chief spy twirled his moustache thoughtfully.
“Well,” he said, outwardly unmoved, “you must break it—get rid of it. That is all, Guéneau.”
“And if I am unable?”
“Unwilling, you mean.”