sudden inspiration.

'You know something?' he said quickly, fixing me with his eyes.
'But no,' he continued, shaking his head gently. 'Pshaw! The
trick is old. I have better spies than you, M. de Berault.'

'But no better sword,' I cried hoarsely. 'No, not in all your
guard!'

'That is true,' he said slowly. 'That is true.'
To my surprise, he spoke in a tone of consideration; and he
looked down at the floor. 'Let me think, my friend,' he
continued.

He walked two or three times up and down the room, while I stood
trembling. I confess it, trembling. The man whose pulses danger
has no power to quicken, is seldom proof against suspense; and
the sudden hope his words awakened in me so shook me that his
figure as he trod lightly to and fro with the cat rubbing against
his robe and turning time for time with him, wavered before my
eyes. I grasped the table to steady myself. I had not admitted
even in my own mind how darkly the shadow of Montfaucon and the
gallows had fallen across me.

I had leisure to recover myself, for it was some time before he
spoke. When he did, it was in a voice harsh, changed,
imperative. 'You have the reputation of a man faithful, at
least, to his employer,' he said. 'Do not answer me. I say it
is so. Well, I will trust you. I will give you one more chance
--though it is a desperate one. Woe to you if you fail me! Do