“I was only going to put this fork away,” Scevola burst out volubly. “I had left it leaning against the wall, and as I was passing along I suddenly saw it, so I thought I would put it in the stable before I went to bed. That’s all.” Michel’s mouth fell open a bit. “Now what do you think I would want with a stable fork at this time of night, if it wasn’t to put it away?” argued Scevola. “What indeed!” mumbled Michel, who began to doubt the evidence of his senses. “You go about mooning like a fool and imagine a lot of silly things, you great stupid imbecile. All I wanted to do was to ask whether everything was all right down there, and you, idiot, bound to one side like a goat and pick up a stone. The moon has affected your head, not mine. Now drop it.” Michel, accustomed to do what he was told, opened his fingers slowly, not quite convinced but thinking there might be something in it. Scevola, perceiving his advantage, scolded on: “You are dangerous. You ought to have your feet and hands tied every full moon. What did you say about a head just now? What head?” “I said that I didn’t have a broken head.” “Was that all?” said Scevola. He was asking himself what on earth could have happened down there during the afternoon to cause a broken head. Clearly, it must have been either a fight or an accident, but in any case he considered that it was for him a favourable circumstance, for obviously a man with a bandaged head is at a disadvantage. He was inclined to think it must have been some silly accident, and he regretted profoundly that the lieutenant had not killed himself outright. He turned sourly to Michel. “Now you may go into the shed. And don’t try any of your tricks with me any more, because next time you pick up a stone I will shoot you like a dog.”