"Suppose," said the sullen one, "that I were in a position to offer you the loan of five thousand lire, or four thousand eight hundred and ninety-two, to be exact, what surety should I receive that my fortunes and those of my associates would be mended thereby?"
"My word," said Asabri simply, and he turned his face of a Roman emperor and looked the sullen brigand directly in the eye.
"Words," said this one, although his eyes fell before the steadiness of the banker's, "are of all kinds and conditions, according to whoso gives them."
Asabri smiled, and sure of his notoriety: "I am Asabri," said he.
They examined him anew with a great awe. The youngest said:
"And you have fallen upon evil days! I should have been less astonished if some one were to tell me that the late pope had received employment in hell."
"Beppo," said the sullen brigand, "whatever the state of his fortunes, the word of Asabri is sufficient. Go into the tomb of Attulius and fetch out the money."
The money—silver, copper, and notes of small denominations—was in a dirty leather bag.
"Will you count it, sir?"
With the palms of his hands Asabri answered that he would not. Inwardly, it was as if he had been made of smiles; but he showed them a stern countenance when he said: