"That is unlucky," coldly replied the count.
"It is."
"Because," he continued, "I would have given you not one, but two hundred ounces."
"Eh?" asked the other, cocking his ears.
"But as you refuse—you do so, I think?—I shall be obliged, to my great regret to have you shot."
"What do you say?" the lepero exclaimed, with a movement of terror.
"By'r Lady!" the count said simply, "my dear fellow, you are so clever in business matters that, having found two sides of a question, I am terribly frightened lest you should find a third."
And before Cucharés could prevent him he seized the pistols that lay on the table. The lepero turned livid.
"Pardon me, pardon me," he said in an ill-assured voice. "As you desire it so eagerly, I must please you to the best of my power. I accept the two hundred ounces."
"Very good!" the count exclaimed. "I thought, too, that we should come to an understanding."