Giraldi pulled out a pocket-book from which he took a handful of bank-notes, and threw them on the table.
"Count them!"
"There are three thousand thalers, monsieur."
"Take them and speak!"
François smoothed the notes carefully, put them no less carefully into one side of his pocket-book, and said, as he took a paper from the other side:
"Monsieur's generosity is adorable, as usual. I should be most deeply ashamed if I were not convinced that monsieur would take this as a fully sufficient equivalent."
And, with a low bow, he handed Giraldi the paper--a copy of Elsa's telegram to her father.
François had hoped that the terror which must now be painted on monsieur's expressive face would produce an interesting variety in the scene; but he flattered himself in vain. Monsieur, who had been trembling all over with rage and fury, and who had gesticulated and raved like a madman, now stood, after glancing in his own rapid fashion over the paper, looking as calm and composed as François had ever yet seen him; and asked, in his usual low inquiring voice:
"When and where was this sent out?"
"This morning, at five o'clock, from Prora, by a man on horseback, whom I sent myself, after I had taken a copy of the open note."