These words were uttered in a tone of such extreme insolence that the Count was strongly tempted to hurl the extortionate scoundrel from the window, but he contrived to restrain his passion.
“Let us hear the conditions then,” said he impatiently.
Tantaine extracted from some hidden recess of his coat a much-worn pocketbook, and drew from it a paper.
“Here are our conditions,” returned he slowly. “The Count de Mussidan promises to give the hand of his daughter to Henri Marquis de Croisenois. He will give his daughter a wedding portion of six hundred thousand francs, and promises that the marriage shall take place without delay. The Marquis de Croisenois will be formally introduced at your house, and he must be cordially received. Four days afterwards he must be asked to dinner. On the fifteenth day from that M. de Mussidan will give a grand ball in honor of the signing of the marriage contract. The leaves from the diary and the whole of the correspondence will be handed to M. de Mussidan as soon as the civil ceremony is completed.”
With firmly compressed lips and clenched hands, the Count sat listening to these conditions.
“And who can tell me,” said he, “that you will keep your engagements, and that these papers will be restored to me at all?”
Tantaine looked at him with a air of pity.
“Your own good sense,” answered he. “What more could we expect to get out of you than your daughter and your money?”
The Count did not answer, but paced up and down the room, eyeing the ambassador keenly, and endeavoring to detect some weak point in his manner of cynicism and audacity. Then speaking in the calm tone of a man who had made up his mind, he said,—
“You hold me as in a vice, and I admit myself vanquished. Stringent as your conditions are, I accept them.”