“The purpose to have his wits cured, if so be I can entice him into your honour’s presence.”
“What, then, hath befallen his wits?”
“What not, great sir? A thinks every one he meets doth owe him money, and importunes the same for payment.”
“A kleptomaniacal symptom; from mental possession to material. You did well to approach me timely. Since when—— But I can judge nothing without I see him. Send him up to me.”
“Mayhap he’ll be persuaded so he come alone. But he’ll ask you payment.”
“That were to put the cart before the horse; to fee the patient—husteron proteron. But dispatch, dispatch.”
The rogue descended to the street, and took Griselda’s bridle from her master.
“Go, make your own terms,” said he, as if well pleased, “while I hold this. A waits you up above.”
Soberly, and without suspicion, the musician mounted the stairs. At the top Salvator met him, and, conducting him into his room, shut the door.
“A moment,” said he, “while I examine your eyes.”