The Maids of Paradise Part 49

Still the Lizard lay, unmoved, turning the needle round and round.

Tric-Trac having devoured the cheese, bread, and an entire pheasant, made a bundle of the remaining food, emptied the cider-jug, wiped his beardless face with his cap, and announced that he would be pleased to "broil" a cigarette.

"Do you want the gendarmes to scent tobacco?" said the Lizard.

"Are the 'Flics' out already?" asked Tric-Trac, astonished.

"They're in Paradise, setting the whole Department by the ears. But they can't look sideways at me; I'm going to be exempt."

"It strikes me," observed Tric-Trac, "that you take great precautions for your own skin."

"I do," said the Lizard.

"What about me?"

The poacher looked around at the young ruffian. Those muscles in the human face which draw back the upper lip are not the muscles used for laughter. Animals employ them when they snarl. And now the Lizard laughed that way; his upper lip shrank from the edge of his yellow teeth, and he regarded Tric-Trac with oblique and burning eyes.

"What about me?" repeated Tric-Trac, in an offended tone. "Am I to live in fear of the Flics?"

The Lizard laughed again, and Tric-Trac, disgusted, stood up, settled his cap over his wide ears, humming a song as he loosened his trousers-belt:

"Si vous t'nez a vot' squelette Ne fait' pas comme Bibi!

Claquer plutot dans vot' lit Que de claquer a la Roquette!"--

"Who are you gaping at?" he added, abruptly. "Bon; c'est ma geule.

Et apres? Drop that box!"

"Come," replied the Lizard, coldly, placing the box on the moss, "you'd better not quarrel with me."

"Oh, that's a threat, is it?" sneered Tric-Trac. He walked over to the steel box, lifted it, placed it in the iron-edged case, and sat down on the case.

"I want you to comprehend," he added, "that you have pushed your nose into an affair that does not concern you. The next time you come here to sell your snared pheasants, come like a man, nom de Dieu! and not like a cat of the Glaciere!--or I'll find a way to stop your curiosity."

The dull-red color surged into the poacher's face and heavy neck; for a moment he stood as though stunned. Then he dragged out his knife.

Tric-Trac sat looking at him insolently, one hand thrust into the bosom of his greasy coat.

"I've got a toy under my cravate that says 'Papa!' six times--pop!

pop! pop! pop! pop! pop! Papa!" he continued, calmly; "so there's no use in your turning red and swelling the veins in your neck. Go to the devil! Do you think I can't live without you? Go to the devil with your traps and partridges and fish-hooks--and that f.a.got-knife in your fist--and if you try to throw it at me you'll make a sad mistake!"

The Lizard's half-raised hand dropped as Tric-Trac, with a movement like lightning, turned a revolver full on him, talking all the while in his drawling whine.

"C'est ca! Now you are reasonable. Get out of this forest, my friend--or stay and join us. Eh! That astonishes you? Why? Idiot, we want men like you. We want men who have nothing to lose and--millions to gain! Ah, you are amazed! Yes, millions--I say it. I, Tric-Trac of the Glaciere, who have done my time in Noumea, too! Yes, millions."

The young ruffian laughed and slowly pa.s.sed his tongue over his thin lips. The Lizard slowly returned his knife to its sheath, looked all around, then deliberately sat down on the moss cross-legged. I could have hugged him.

"A million? Where?" he asked, vacantly.

"Parbleu! Naturally you ask where," chuckled Tric-Trac. "Tiens! A supposition that it's in this box!"

"The box is too small," said the Lizard, patiently.

Tric-Trac roared. "Listen to him! Listen to the child!" he cried, delighted. "Too small to hold gold enough for you? Very well--but is _a ship big enough_?"

"A big ship is."

Tric-Trac wriggled in convulsions of laughter.

"Oh, listen! He wants a big ship! Well--say a ship as big as that ugly, black iron-clad sticking up out of the sea yonder, like a Usine-de-gaz!"

"I think that ship would be big enough," said the poacher, seriously.

Tric-Trac did not laugh; his little eyes narrowed, and he looked steadily at the poacher.

"Do you mean what I mean?" he asked, deliberately.

"Well," said the Lizard, "what do you mean?"

"I mean that France is busy st.i.tching on a new flag."

"Black?"

"Red--_first_."

"Oh-h!" mused the poacher. "When does France hoist that new red flag?"

"When Paris falls."

The poacher rested his chin on his doubled fist and leaned forward across his gathered knees. "I see," he drawled.

"Under the commune there can be no more poverty," said Tric-Trac; "you comprehend that."

"Exactly."

"And no more aristocrats."

"Exactly."

"Well," said Tric-Trac, his head on one side, "how does that programme strike you?"

"It is impossible, your programme," said the poacher, rising to his feet impatiently.

"You think so? Wait a few days! Wait, my friend," cried Tric-Trac, eagerly; "and say!--come back here next Monday! There will be a few of us here--a few friends. And keep your mouth shut tight. Here! Wait.

Look here, friend, don't let a little pleasantry stand between comrades. Your f.a.got-knife against my little flute that sings pa-pa!--that leaves matters balanced, eh?"

The young ruffian had followed the Lizard and caught him by his stained velvet coat.

"Voyons," he persisted, "do you think the commune is going to let a comrade starve for lack of Badinguet's lozenges? Here, take a few of these!" and the rascal thrust out a dirty palm full of twenty-franc gold pieces.