“Hum!” growled the wily rascal, after deliberating awhile. “And if I did assist you, what compensation will you give me?”
“I will give you whatever you wish for—money, land, a house—”
“Many thanks. I want something quite different.”
“What do you want then? Tell me.”
Chupin reflected for a moment, and then replied: “This is what I want. I have a good many enemies, and I don’t even feel safe in my own house. My sons abuse me when I’ve been drinking, and my wife is quite capable of poisoning my wine. I tremble for my life and for my money. I can’t endure such an existence much longer. Promise me an asylum at the Chateau de Courtornieu and I’m yours. I shall be safe in your house. But let it be understood I won’t be ill-treated by the servants like I was at Sairmeuse.”
“Oh, I can promise you all that.”
“Swear it then by your hope of heaven.”
“I swear it.”
There was such evident sincerity in her accent that Chupin felt re-assured. He leant towards her, and in a low voice, remarked: “Now tell me your business.” His small grey eyes glittered in a threatening fashion; his thin lips were drawn tightly over his sharp teeth; he evidently expected some proposition of murder, and was ready to accomplish it.
His attitude evinced his feelings so plainly that Blanche shuddered. “Really, what I want of you is almost nothing,” she replied. “I only want you to watch the Marquis de Sairmeuse.”