‘You will not meddle with him?’ I cried, almost beside myself with dismay. ‘No, I won’t,’ he replied, retaining his listless attitude. ‘I know him, and I am afraid of him. I am no match for him.’ ‘Then M. de Rosny was wrong, was he?’ I said, giving way to my anger. ‘If it please you,’ he answered pertly. This was too much for me. My riding-switch lay handy, and I snatched it up. Before he knew what I would be at, I fell upon him, and gave him such a sound wholesome drubbing as speedily brought him to his senses. When he cried for mercy--which he did not for a good space, being still possessed by the peevish devil which had ridden him ever since his departure from Rosny--I put it to him again whether M. de Rosny was not right. When he at last admitted this, but not till then, I threw the whip away and let him go, but did not cease to reproach him as he deserved. ‘Did you think,’ I said, ‘that I was going to be ruined because you would not use your lazy brains? That I was going to sit still, and let you sulk, while mademoiselle walked blindfold into the toils? Not at all, my friend!’ ‘Mademoiselle!’ he exclaimed, looking at me with a sudden change of countenance, end ceasing to rub himself and scowl, as he had been doing. ‘She is not here, and is in no danger.’ ‘She will be here to-morrow, or the next day,’ I said. You did not tell me that!’ he replied, his eyes glittering. ‘Does Father Antoine know it?’ ‘He will know it the moment she enters the town,’ I answered. Noting the change which the introduction of mademoiselle’s name into the affair had wrought in him, I felt something like humiliation. But at the moment I had no choice; it was my business to use such instruments as came to my hand, and not, mademoiselle’s safety being at stake, to pick and choose too nicely. In a few minutes our positions were reversed. The lad had grown as hot as I cold, as keenly excited as I critical. When he presently came to a stand in front of me, I saw a strange likeness between his face and the priest’s; nor was I astonished when he presently made just such a proposal as I should have expected from Father Antoine himself. ‘There is only one thing for it,’ he muttered, trembling all over. ‘He must be got rid of!’ ‘Fine talking!’ I said, contemptuously. ‘If he were a soldier he might be brought to it. But he is a priest, my friend, and does not fight.’ ‘Fight? Who wants him to fight?’ the lad answered, his face dark, his hands moving restlessly. ‘It is the easier done. A blow in the back, and he will trouble us no more.’ ‘Who is to strike it?’ I asked drily. Simon trembled and hesitated; but presently, heaving a deep sigh, he said, ‘I will.’ ‘It might not be difficult,’ I muttered, thinking it over. ‘It would be easy,’ he answered under his breath. His eyes shone, his lips were white, and his long dark hair hung wet over his forehead.