“There is no ‘but.’ I said, do you remember?”
“Y . . . y . . . y . . . yes . . . your Honour!”
“What was the bargain?”
There was dead silence. The unfortunate man looked round at the great cliffs, the moon above, the stolid faces of the soldiers, and even at the poor, prostrate, inanimate woman close by, but said nothing.
“Will you speak?” thundered Chauvelin, menacingly.
He did try, poor wretch, but, obviously, he could not. There was no doubt, however, that he knew what to expect from the stern man before him.
“Your Honour . . .” he ventured imploringly.
“Since your terror seems to have paralyzed your tongue,” said Chauvelin, sarcastically, “I must needs refresh your memory. It was agreed between us, that if we overtook my friend the tall stranger, before he reached this place, you were to have ten pieces of gold.”
A low moan escaped from the Jew’s trembling lips.
“But,” added Chauvelin, with slow emphasis, “if you deceived me in your promise, you were to have a sound beating, one that would teach you not to tell lies.”