“I am much pleased with your sincerity.”
Supper over I paid my bill, and asked the landlord to get me a carriage and pair of horses to take me to Salerno early the next morning. I thanked the Greek for his delicious muscatel wine, and, requesting his address in Naples, I assured him that he would see me within a fortnight, as I was determined to secure a cask of his Cerigo.
We embraced each other, and I retired to bed well pleased with my day’s work, and in no way astonished at the Greek’s not offering to purchase my secret, for I was certain that he would not sleep for anxiety, and that I should see him early in the morning. At all events, I had enough money to reach the Tour-du-Grec, and there Providence would take care of me. Yet it seemed to me very difficult to travel as far as Martorano, begging like a mendicant-friar, because my outward appearance did not excite pity; people would feel interested in me only from a conviction that I needed nothing—a very unfortunate conviction, when the object of it is truly poor.
As I had forseen, the Greek was in my room at daybreak. I received him in a friendly way, saying that we could take coffee together.
“Willingly; but tell me, reverend abbé, whether you would feel disposed to sell me your secret?”
“Why not? When we meet in Naples—”
“But why not now?”
“I am expected in Salerno; besides, I would only sell the secret for a large sum of money, and I am not acquainted with you.”
“That does not matter, as I am sufficiently known here to pay you in cash. How much would you want?”
“Two thousand ounces.”