"But, in Heaven's name, how do you expect me to do that? You do not reflect that I have no means to—"
"Listen," Diego said, imperiously. "You understand that I have no leisure to discuss the point with you. You will either introduce us into the convent—in which case this purse, containing two hundred and fifty gold onzas, is yours—or you refuse, and then," he added, as he coldly drew a pistol from his pocket, "I blow out your brains with this."
A cold perspiration broke out on Crevel's forehead, who knew Diego too well to insult him by doubting his intentions.
"Well?" the other asked, as he cocked the pistol. "Do not play with that thing, lieutenant; I will try my best."
"To give you a better chance of success, here is the purse," the half-breed said, throwing it to him.
Crevel seized it with a start of delight which it would be impossible to describe; then he walked toward the convent gate, while racking his brains as to how he should contrive to earn the money and run the least possible risk. A luminous thought crossed his brain, and it was with a smile on his lips that he raised the hammer to knock. All at once the half-breed stopped his arm.
"What is it?" Crevel asked.
"It has struck eleven long since; everybody is asleep in the convent, and so it would perhaps be better to try some other method."
"You are mistaken," the banian replied; "the portress is awake."
"Are you sure of that?"