“I will! I swear it! Heart and hand I go in with you for this object, and neither fire nor water, nor steel nor poison shall turn me now. You know me, Stefano. I will shrink from nothing. But it is—it is not a question of blood?”
“No, no!” he replied, laughing. “You, too, are unchanged, Célandine. Always in extremes. Make yourself easy on that score. It is but a trick of your former trade. None but yourself can do it half so well. I will explain it all in five minutes when I have finished this cup of wine. But, Célandine,” and here her old admirer drew closer and whispered in her ear.
“I cannot tell,” she laughed. “It is impossible to give an answer yet.”
“And the price?” continued he, earnestly. “Surely it must have fallen now, though the Marquise is hard to deal with on such matters.”
The Quadroon shook her head archly, indeed, coquettishly for her years and replied—
“Certainly not less than a couple of thousand francs?”
“But suppose she knew everything!” urged the lover.
“Then I think she would be so angry, she would have me flogged and give me away for nothing!”
He shook his head, pondering deeply. The flogging was indeed a serious consideration. But then, what a reduction it would make in the price!