It was clear the new state of affairs was more to his mind than the long year’s rigour and silence. It seemed to me strange then, and it has seemed so ever since, that during all that time I never was visited by Doltaire but once, and of that event I am going to write briefly here.
It was about two months before this particular morning that he came, greeting me courteously enough.
“Close quarters here,” said he, looking round as if the place were new to him and smiling to himself.
“Not so close as we all come to one day,” said I.
“Dismal comparison!” he rejoined; “you’ve lost your spirits.”
“Not so,” I retorted; “nothing but my liberty.”
“You know the way to find it quickly,” he suggested.
“A dead man’s waste papers,” responded he; “of no use to him or you, or any one save the Grande Marquise.”
“None but the Grande Marquise and the writer would give you a penny for them!”
“You can--to me. If not to me, to no one. You had your chance long ago, and you refused it. You must admit I dealt fairly with you. I did not move till you had set your own trap and fallen into it. Now, if you do not give me the letters--well, you will give them to none else in this world. It has been a fair game, and I am winning now. I’ve only used means which one gentleman might use with another. Had you been a lesser man I should have had you spitted long ago. You understand?”
“Perfectly. But since we have played so long, do you think I’ll give you the stakes now--before the end?”
“It would be wiser,” he answered thoughtfully.
“It will take over your citadel and dig me out some day,” I retorted hotly.
“What good that? Your life is more to you than Quebec to England.”
“No, no,” said I quickly; “I would give my life a hundred times to see your flag hauled down!”
“A freakish ambition,” he replied; “mere infatuation!”
“You do not understand it, Monsieur Doltaire,” I remarked ironically.
“I love not endless puzzles. There is no sport in following a maze that leads to nowhere save the grave.” He yawned. “This air is heavy,” he added; “you must find it trying.”
“Never as trying as at this moment,” I retorted.
“You are a trickster,” I answered coldly.
“Ah, you mean that night at Bigot’s?” He smiled. “No, no, you were to blame--so green. You might have known we were for having you between the stones.”