“Another profound error into which you have fallen, my lord,” said Balsamo: “You are not going to keep this casket.”
“True,” sneered the other; “I forgot that Count Fenix is a knight of the road who robs men by armed force. I did not see your pistol which you have put away. Excuse me, my lord the ambassador.”
“The pistol is no longer wanted, my lord. You surely do not think that I would fight for the casket over your body here where a shout would rouse the house full of servants and police agents?—— No, when I say that you will not keep my casket, I mean that you will restore it to me of your own free will.”
“I?” said the magistrate, laying his fist on the box with so much force that he almost shattered it. “You may laugh, but you shall not take this box but at the cost of my life. Have I not risked it a thousand times—ought I not pour out the last drop of my blood in his Majesty’s service? Kill me, as you are the master; but I shall have enough voice left to denounce you for your crimes. Restore you this,” he repeated, with a bitter laugh, “hell itself might claim it and not make me surrender.”
“I am not going to require the intervention of subterranean powers; merely that of the person who is even now knocking at your street door.”
Three loud knocks thundered at the door.
“And whose carriage is even now entering the yard,” added the mesmerist.
“Some friend of yours who does me the honor to call?”
“Just as you say, a friend of mine.”
“The Right Honorable the Countess Dubarry!” announced a valet at the study door, as the lady, who had not believed she wanted the permission to enter, rushed in. It was the lovely countess, whose perfumed and hooped skirts rustled in the doorway.