"But you will not trust me?"

I looked away. "What would a truce between us mean? You are English,
I, French. Be assured that sooner or later the fox eats the hen."

He laughed. "Who is to be the fox?" He jumped to his feet.
"Partners, then, it shall be. A strange creed. A helping hand to-day
and a knife in the back to-morrow. But I shall follow you, monsieur."

"You will follow?"

"In this path as in others. If you refuse to admit even a truce
between us, I agree. I shall keep out of your way as much as possible.
Only--I would not have you think me ungrateful."

I could never forbear a smile when he was serious. "We shall probably
think very little about each other," I said comfortably. "Once settled
into routine we shall have work to fill our thought. You will learn to
do your share. I think you willing."

"Indeed I am willing, monsieur."

"Good. So we shall work hard, sleep early, and the months will pass
before we know. Let us not talk of trust or friendship, since our ways
are divided."

He bowed. "You are right, monsieur. And I meant only this,--I will
try not to be an irritation. You will try not to think of me as such.
You agree?"