"You haven't the strength."
"Yes, yes, I can manage . . . it's not far. Only, only, listen to me. . . ."
The old man seemed utterly exhausted. From time to time his breathing was interrupted, as though Ya–Bon's hand were still clutching him by the throat, and he sank into a heap, moaning.
Patrice stooped over him:
"I'm listening," he said. "But, for God's sake, hurry!"
"All right," said Siméon. "All right. She'll be free in a few minutes. But on one condition, just one. . . . Patrice, you must swear to me on Coralie's head that you will not touch the gold and that no one shall know . . ."
"I swear it on her head."
"You swear it, yes; but the other one, your damned companion, he'll follow us, he'll see."
"No, he won't."
"Yes, he will, unless you consent . . ."
"To what? Oh, in Hea
