But at this point the young fool, whose hands were clasped behind him
and concealed a marlin-spike, up and killed the old sailor, and so
rounded off this fascinating tale.
Well then, to cut a long story short, I had to make forced marches.
With eight francs and ten centimes, and nearer ninety than eighty-five
miles before the next relief, it was necessary to plan and then to
urge on heroically. Said I to myself, 'The thing can be done quite
easily. What is ninety miles? Two long days! Who cannot live on four
francs a day? Why, lots of men do it on two francs a day.'
But my guardian angel said to me, 'You are an ass! Ninety miles is a
great deal more than twice forty-five. Besides which' (said he) 'a
great effort needs largeness and ease. Men who live on two francs a
day or less are not men who attempt to march forty-five miles a day.
Indeed, my friend, you are pushing it very close.'
'Well,' thought I, 'at least in such a glorious air, with such Hills
all about one, and such a race, one can come to no great harm.'
But I knew within me that Latins are hard where money is concerned,
and I feared for my strength. I was determined to push forward and to
live on little. I filled my lungs and put on the spirit of an attempt
and swung down the valley.
