“Pshaw, pshaw!” answered M. Goefle, who was evidently preoccupied; “go and select your piece, and don’t trouble yourself; a smart fellow like you is never at a loss.”
And leaving Christian to get out of his difficulties as he best might, he walked on with his usual short, quick, determined step, straight to the pavilion, in the new gaard which Stenson occupied. Evidently the three verses of the Bible were whirling about busily in his head.
The lower floor of this pavilion was a sort of vestibule, which Ulphilas, who was afraid of being alone, preferred to his own lodging, and where he slept under the pretence of being at hand to wait upon his uncle, whose great age needed constant attendance. Ulph had just come into this vestibule, and had thrown himself down upon his bed, where he was already fast asleep and snoring. M. Goefle was about ascending to the upper floor, when he was arrested by the sound of voices in conversation. Two persons were talking, with great animation, in Italian. The voice of one of them was pitched in a high key, as is often the case with deaf persons, who cannot themselves hear what they are saying; this was Stenson. He spoke the language with a good deal of facility, but with a detestable accent, and very incorrectly. The other person, who was speaking pure Italian in a noticeably clear voice, and with a very distinct pronunciation, seemed to make himself heard, in spite of the old man’s deafness. M. Goefle was very much surprised to find that Stenson understood Italian, and could express himself in it either well or ill, for he did not know that he had ever had any occasion to use it. The conversation was being carried on in Stenson’s office, which opened into his sleeping-room. The door at the head of the stairs was closed; but M. Goefle, taking a few steps up, heard a fragment of the dialogue, in substance as follows:
“No,” said Stenson, “you are mistaken. The baron has no interest in making this discovery.”
“Possibly, M. Steward,” replied the unknown; “but it will not cost me anything to ascertain.”
“Then you propose to sell the secret to the highest bidder?”
“Perhaps so. What do you offer?”
“Nothing! I am poor, because I have always been honest and disinterested. I do not even own anything in this place. I have only my life. You may take that, if you choose.”
At these words, which seemed to imply that old Stenson was at the mercy of some bandit, M. Goefle sprang up two more steps at a stride, to come to the rescue; but the Italian resumed, with perfect composure:
“What should I do with that, Monsieur Stenson? Come, take courage! you can get yourself out of the difficulty by looking up some of your old crowns in your old box. Old people always have one. You found the means of paying Manasses, so as to secure his discretion.”