The next few days were the most anxious of my life. Never before had I
lived on terms of intimacy with a picric bomb, that most deadly and
uncertain of all explosive agencies. I speedily found that Simard was
so absinthe-soaked I could do nothing with him. He could not be bribed
or cajoled or persuaded or threatened. Once, indeed, when he talked
with drunken affection of Eugene Valmont, I conceived a wild notion of
declaring myself to him; but a moment's reflection showed the absolute
uselessness of this course. It was not one Simard with whom I had to
deal, but half a dozen or more. There was Simard, sober, half sober,
quarter sober, drunk, half drunk, quarter drunk, or wholly drunk. Any
bargain I might make with the one Simard would not be kept by any of
the other six. The only safe Simard was Simard insensible through
over-indulgence. I had resolved to get Simard insensibly drunk on the
morning of the procession, but my plans were upset at a meeting of the
anarchists, which luckily took place on an evening shortly after my
arrival, and this gave me time to mature the plan which was actually
carried out. Each member of the anarchists' club knew of Simard's
slavery to absinthe, and fears were expressed that he might prove
incapable on the day of the procession, too late for a substitute to
take his place.
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