But in a second it was gone. The man must be compelled, and he had the means. He bethought him of a pistol pressed upon him by Le Chapelier at the moment of his leaving Rennes, a gift which at the time he had almost disdained. True, it was not loaded, and he had no ammunition. But how was Fresnel to know that?
He acted quickly. As with his right hand he pulled it from his pocket, with his left he caught the ferryman by the shoulder, and swung him round.
"What do you want now?" Fresnel demanded angrily. "Have n't I told you that I..."
He broke off short. The muzzle of the pistol was within a foot of his eyes.
"I want the key of the boat. That is all, Fresnel. And you can either give it me at once, or I'll take it after I have burnt your brains. I should regret to kill you, but I shall not hesitate. It is your life against mine, Fresnel; and you'll not find it strange that if one of us must die I prefer that it shall be you."
Fresnel dipped a hand into his pocket, and fetched thence a key. He held it out to André-Louis in fingers that shook—more in anger than in fear.
"I yield to violence," he said, showing his teeth like a snarling dog. "But don't imagine that it will greatly profit you."
André-Louis took the key. His pistol remained levelled.
"You threaten me, I think," he said. "It is not difficult to read your threat. The moment I am gone, you will run to inform against me. You will set the maréchaussée on my heels to overtake me."
"No, no!" cried the other. He perceived his peril. He read his doom in the cold, sinister note on which André-Louis addressed him, and grew afraid. "I swear to you, monsieur, that I have no such intention."
"I think I had better make quite sure of you."
"O my God! Have mercy, monsieur!" The knave was in a palsy of terror. "I mean you no harm—I swear to
