“It only remains to be ascertained,” he remarked in conclusion, “whether you will scrupulously fulfil the conditions which must be imposed on you. At that price, the treasure may be yours.”
The credulous goldsmith impetuously implored him to name them.
“They cannot be learned from my lips,” said Balsamo loftily. “On your knees, in the first place!”
He himself had already assumed the posture of adoration. Marano hastened to imitate him, and immediately a clear, harmonious voice in the celestial altitude pronounced the following words—words, says the Frenchman, more delicious in the ears of the covetous miser than all the symphonies of aërial choirs.
“Sixty ounces of pearls, sixty ounces of rubies, sixty ounces of diamonds, in a coffer of enchased gold, weighing one hundred and twenty ounces. The infernal genii who protect this treasure will place it in the hands of the worthy man whom our friend has brought, if he be fifty years of age, if he be no Christian—if—if—if—” and a series of conditions followed which Marano perfectly united in his own penurious person, even to the last, which was thus formulated:—“And if he deposit at the entrance of the grotto, before setting foot therein, sixty ounces of gold to propitiate the guardians.”
“You have heard,” said Balsamo, who, already on his feet, began to retrace his steps, completely ignoring the utter stupefaction of his companion.
“Sixty ounces of gold!” ejaculated the miser with a dismal groan, and torn by the internal conflict of avarice and cupidity; but Balsamo heeded the exclamation as little as the groan, and regained the town in silence.
When they were on the point of separating, Marano appeared to have resolved.
“Grant me one instant!” he cried in a piteous voice. “Sixty ounces of gold? Is that the irrevocable condition?”
“Undoubtedly,” said Balsamo, carelessly.