The old man slowly raised his head.
The sailor who had just spoken to him was about thirty years old. His face was sea-tanned, his eyes were strange; they had the shrewd glance of the sailor and the open frankness of the peasant. He held the oars firmly in his two hands. He looked gentle.
In his belt he had a dirk, two pistols, and a rosary.
"Who are you?" said the old man.
"I have just told you."
"What do you want of me?"
The man laid down his oars, folded his arms, and replied,—
"To kill you."
"As you like," said the old man.
The other raised his voice.
"Prepare."
"For what?"
"To die."
"Why?" asked the old man.
There was a silence. The sailor seemed confused for a moment by the question. He replied,—
"I say that I mean to kill you."
"And I ask why?"
The sailor's eyes flashed,—
"Because you have killed my brother."
The old man replied calmly,—
- ↑ "La parole c'est le verbe,"—Speech is "the Word."
