Part 45 (1/2)
”Ha-a-a-ah! Joseph, h-h-you make my blood tingle! Speak to the point; who--”
”I believe him, moreover, Citizen Fusilier, innocent of the charge laid--”
”H-innocent? H-of course he is innocent, sir! We will _make_ him inno--”
”Ah! Citizen, he is already under sentence of death!”
”_What?_ A Creole under sentence!” Agricola swore a heathen oath, set his knees apart and grasped his staff by the middle. ”Sir, we will liberate him if we have to overturn the government!”
Frowenfeld shook his head.
”You have got to overturn something stronger than government.”
”And pray what--”
”A conventionality,” said Frowenfeld, holding the old man's eye.
”Ha, ha! my b-hoy, h-you are right. But we will overturn--eh?”
”I say I fear your engagements will prevent. I hear you take part to-morrow morning in--”
Agricola suddenly stiffened.
”Professor Frowenfeld, it strikes me, sir, you are taking something of a liberty.”
”For which I ask pardon,” exclaimed Frowenfeld. ”Then I may not expect--”
The old man melted again.
”But who is this person in mortal peril?”
Frowenfeld hesitated.
”Citizen Fusilier,” he said, looking first down at the floor and then up into the inquirer's face, ”on my a.s.surance that he is not only a native Creole, but a Grandissime--”
”It is not possible!” exclaimed Agricola.
”--a Grandissime of the purest blood, will you pledge me your aid to liberate him from his danger, 'right or wrong'?”
”_Will_ I? H-why, certainly! Who is he?”
”Citizen--it is Sylves--”
Agricola sprang up with a thundering oath.
The apothecary put out a pacifying hand, but it was spurned.
”Let me go! How dare you, sir? How dare you, sir?” bellowed Agricola.
He started toward the door, cursing furiously and keeping his eye fixed on Frowenfeld with a look of rage not unmixed with terror.