“First, then,” continued the Maltese, “you know that the justices of Calvaruso, Spadafora, Bauso, Saponara, Divito, and Domita have been arrested.”
“I have heard something about it,” said Pascal Bruno, carelessly, at the same time emptying his glass of Marsala, the best wine in Sicily.
“But do you know the cause of their arrest?” inquired the merchant.
“I guess at it,” said Bruno; “is it not because the Prince of Carini, being in an extremely ill-humour on account of his mistress having retired to a convent, has taken it into his head that they have been too slow, and have shown too little skill in their attempts to arrest a certain Pascal Bruno, whose head is worth two thousand ducats?”
“Exactly so,” said the merchant.
“You see,” said Bruno, “I am quite aware of what is going on.”
“Yet, for all that,” said the Maltese, “there may be some circumstances of which you are still ignorant.”
“God is great! as Ali says,” replied Bruno; “but go on, and I will acknowledge my ignorance; I wish for nothing so much as instruction.”
“Well,” said the Maltese, “the six judges have met together, and each has put down twenty-five ounces—that makes one hundred and fifty ounces.”
“Or, in other words,” replied Bruno, in the same careless tone, “eighteen hundred and ninety livres. You see, if my books are not well regulated, it is not for want of arithmetic. Well, what next?”