, do you scare the animal into it, or do you lure him with a
tempting bait? I have laid the trap; he and his friend will walk into
it. I am not a police officer. I make no arrests. My business is to
avert political calamities, without any one knowing that these
calamities exist. That is the real business of a secret agent. Let
him dig up his fortune. Who has a better right? _Peste_! The pope
will not crown him in the gardens of the Tuileries. What!" with a ring
in his voice Fitzgerald had never heard before; "am I one to be
overcome without a struggle, without a call for help? The trap is set,
and in forty-eight hours it will be sprung. Be calm, my son. Tonight
we should not find a horse or carriage in the whole town of Ajaccio."

"But what are you going to do?"

"Go to Aitone, to find a hole in the ground."

"But the admiral!"

"Let him gaze into the hole, and then tell him what you will. I owe
him that much. Come on!"

"Where?"

"To the admiral, to tell him his secretary is a fine rogue and that he
has stolen the march on us. A good chase will soften his final
disappointment."

"You're a strange man."

"No; only what you English and Americans call a game sport. To start
on even terms with a man, to give him the odds, if necessary. What!
have beaters for my rabbits, shoot pigeons from traps? _Fi donc_!"

"Hang it!" growled the young man, undecided.

"My son, give me my way. Some day you will be glad. I will tell you
this: I am playing against desperate men; and the liberty, perhaps
honor, of one you love is menaced."

"My God!"

"Sh! Ask me nothing; leave it all to me. There! They are coming.
Not a word."

The admiral's fury was boundless, and his utterances were touched here
and there by strong sailor expressions. The scoundrel! The black-leg!
And he had trusted him without reservation. He wanted to start at
once. Laura finally succeeded in calming him, and the cold reason of
M. Ferraud convinced him of the folly of haste. There was a comic side
to the picture, too, but they were all too serious to note it; the
varied tints of the dressing-gowns, the bath-slippers and bare feet,
the uncovered throats, the tousled hair, the eyes still heavy with
sleep. Every one of the party was in Ferraud's room, and their voices
hummed and murmured and their arms waved. Only one of them did Ferraud
watch keenly; Hildegarde. How would she act now?

Fitzgerald's head still rang, and no