"You must admit, Pierre," he exclaimed in French, contracting his dark bushy eyebrows slightly, "it is no use sitting down and giving vent to empty lamentations. We must act."
Pierre Rouillier, the young man addressed, was tall and lean, with jet black hair, a well-trimmed moustache, and a thin face, the rather melancholy expression of which did not detract from the elements of good looks which his features possessed.
"Why can't we remain here quietly in hiding for a time?" he suggested. "If we wait, something good may turn up."
"Remain and do nothing!" echoed Victor Bérard. "Are you an imbecile? While we rest, the chance may slip from us."
"There's no fear of that," Pierre replied confidently. "My opinion is that we can remain here for a month or two longer with much advantage to ourselves."
"Bah!" ejaculated his companion, a short and rather stout man, about ten years his senior, whoso brilliant dark eyes gleamed with anger and disgust.
"Well, speaking candidly," continued Pierre, "do you really think it advisable to do anything just now?"
"I see nothing to prevent it; but, of course, it would be impossible to carry out our primary intention just at present. In fact, until the business is more developed any attempt would be mere folly."
"Exactly. That's just my reason for remaining idle."
"The fact is, you're afraid," exclaimed Bérard, regarding him contemptuously.
"Afraid of what?"
"Of making a false move," he replied; and then he added: "Look here, Pierre, leave everything to me.
