“Come, come, prince,” said the baron, good-naturedly, “don’t be angry, and I’ll give you three hours instead of two. But I have a favor to ask of you.”
The foreigner at once thrust his hand into his pocket, with such a natural gesture, that neither the baron nor Pascal could repress a smile, and he himself understanding the cause of their merriment broke into a hearty laugh. “It’s purely from force of habit,” said he. “Ah! since I’ve been in Paris—— But what do you wish?”
The baron sat down, and gravely replied: “You told us scarcely an hour ago that you had been cheated in the purchase of some horses.”
“Cheated! it was worse than highway robbery.”
“Would it be indiscreet to ask you by whom you have been defrauded?”
Kami-Bey’s purple cheeks became a trifle pale. “Hum!” said he, in an altered tone of voice, “that is a delicate question. My defrauder appears to be a dangerous fellow—a duellist—and if I disclose his knavery, he is quite capable of picking a quarrel with me—not that I am afraid of him, I assure you, but my principles don’t allow me to fight. When a man has an income of a million, he doesn’t care to expose himself to the dangers of a duel.”
“But, prince, in France folks don’t do a scoundrel the honor to cross swords with him.”
“That’s just what my steward, who is a Frenchman, told me; but no matter. Besides, I am not sufficiently sure of the man’s guilt to noise it abroad. I have no positive proofs as yet.”
He was evidently terribly frightened, and the first thing to be done was to reassure him. “Come,” insisted the baron, “tell us the man’s name. This gentleman here”—pointing to Pascal—“is one of my most esteemed friends. I will answer for him as I would for myself; and we will swear upon our honor not to reveal the secret we ask you for, without your permission.”
“Truly?”