“Tic tac too! Did ever you see a worse case of balkiness? Monsieur, for the dozenth time, and as you know perfectly well: nobody but you has raised the question of throat-cutting! No, it’s a simple matter of what you call, with some generosity I must say, the good name of a woman; which presumptive good name is to be saved or sacrificed, as you chance to decide, and at a price of which you are thoroughly aware. However, I will concede a point: once this so-called good name has been saved, I will, if you think it in the least important, add the further stipulation that the object of your concern shall never again be invited to this place, that she shall henceforth and forever be excused from that special collaboration with us which, a few moments ago, seemed to arouse in you a very understandable compassion. What more can you ask, Monsieur? The question may now be stated thus: will you pay for madame, or shall madame pay for you?”
He had not completed the antithesis before I nodded in assent. The marquis rose: “I thank you,” said he with great solemnity. “I have your word of honor. Between a man like you and a man like me that is quite enough.”
Meanwhile the count and the vicomte had also risen to their feet.
“Gentlemen,” said the marquis to them in a tone of command, “I noticed that you at last had understood me. Be so good, accordingly, as to attend to all the preparations necessary for the work that is now before us. No time must be lost, since the dawn is close at hand. For my part I must rest a moment, to collect myself.”
He had stepped over, meanwhile, to one of the dormeuses of the complicated backs and arm rests, the curious design of which had attracted my attention when I first came into the room. He sat down, or rather, he buried himself, in one of these chairs. I saw him relax against the cushions, which seemed calculated to fit every projection and indentation of his form.
There he rested, with arms folded and eyes closed.
XXV
While I waited, seated in my chair, looking on at everything intently, the Count François and the Vicomte Antoine silently applied themselves to a series of mysterious activities. First they took up each piece of furniture and moved it away from the center of the hall, standing the chairs in line against the wall, and leaving the whole floor clear as if in preparation for a ball. Next, and still without exchanging a syllable, evidently repeating an operation learned from long experience, they brought out the horse, or easel, of which I have spoken, and set it up, being careful to adjust it with precision to the longitudinal axis of the hall, at a point about a third way down the length thereof. Next they opened the antique chest, and drew from it a curious object which they handled with great care, carrying it, with visible effort, to the foot of the horse on which they finally erected it in a vertical position. I noted that this object was about as large as an ordinary cart wheel, that it was flat and circular. A sort of lens, I judged it to be, much like the glass reflector of a powerful searchlight. Its substance was not crystal, however, but a material which I could not identify, something translucent rather than transparent, colorless when viewed with even light, but otherwise showing brilliant metallic glints, shading from ruby red to emerald green with a profusion of all the tints of gold. This lustre, moreover, stood out against the colorless background, as if it came from matter distinct from the disk itself, though incorporated in the latter’s substance. You are doubtless acquainted with Danzig brandy, a liquor which seems filled with particles of floating gold; or with samples of Leyden ware showing bits of crumpled tinsel sprinkled through the glass. Such was the dish, or lens, in question.