Chapter Sixty-One
The train was moving faster. Silence in the carriages. A strained silence; the men expected a new attack any minute. Denis noticed how many of them held their weapon close by. The jolly atmosphere from the beginning of the journey was gone. Denis felt the need to talk. He could see that Ferrand was in an introspective mood. But he knew by now that the director could easily be tempted by a discussion. “I was just thinking… wasn’t it David Thoreau who said that the world is but a canvas to the imagination?”
“I am under the impression, my dear Michel, that you’re trying to liven up our dramatic journey with a little more mind-play on our mutual friend, The Mole. Well, I’m game.”
Denis frowned. Such a cheerful answer. You never knew how Ferrand would react. He could change
