Maillot's interest was now centred upon the conditions; and they at once became a part of the fairy tale of which he was the beggar-transformed-into-a-prince hero—so much were they of a nature to add to his elation, rather than provoke objections.
Therefore he promptly acquiesced in their terms, binding himself upon his honor as a gentleman to fulfil them to the letter.
"Take this little box to Fluette," were the words with which his uncle charged him; "show him the contents, but"—and here Maillot said the old gentleman probed him through and through with a look—"on no account allow the ruby to go out of your possession—not even for the briefest instant. Whatever else he may be, Alfred Fluette is no fool. Once he gets his fingers on this ruby, there 's no telling what he 'll try to put over on you. Of course he has no idea that you took him at his word, but I reckon he 'll have to believe the evidence of his own senses."
Mr. Page had here rubbed his hands together in secret delight, and Maillot said that his eyes sparkled as he proceeded.
"Then you can make him come to terms. We 'll see which he wants to keep the worst—his daughter, or the ruby he 's sweat blood to get.… Won't let his daughter marry a man that has a drop of this 'hound's' blood in his veins, hey?" Page had snarled. "Well, you just watch the old 'hound' close his jaws." Suddenly he became the masterful, domineering man the world knew; he addressed Maillot in the curt, incisive tones which never failed to exact obedience.
"You tell him this, young man, exactly as I am telling it to you. Tell him you have performed your part of the bargain; tell him that the second Miss Belle is yours, the ruby shall be his; tell him he shall never get his hands on it one tick of the clock before.
"He won't hesitate; I know Alfred Fluette. If you follow my instructions explicitly, the young lady will be Mrs. Royal Maillot by this time tomorrow night. If I 'm not very much mistaken, he 'll be the most astounded man in the world when you open the box. You want to do it, too—open it under his nose; dazzle his eyes—hypnotize him with its blood-red flame." He had been working himself slowly into a passion; now it ended in a violent outburst. "Make the old dog get down on his hunkers and beg, d'ye hear? Make him whine! Then close the box and put it in your pocket.… A 'hound,' am I?"
He sat silent for a while, then went on quite calmly, in his former concise manner.
"I 'll give you a line over my signature—he has mighty good reasons for recognizing it on sight—so he can't dispute your right to bargain with him. Then—"
Maillot's eagerness and impatience were so intense that he had been unable to restrain himself when the old gentleman lapsed most vexatiously into a revery.