And he looked at her in so keen, so terrible a fashion, that she shuddered to her very heart.
“I promise you,” she said, “to sign—”
“I’ve enough of your signatures.”
“I will sell something.”
“Get along!” he said, shrugging his shoulders; “you’ve not got anything.”
And he called through the peep-hole that looked down into the shop—
“Annette, don’t forget the three coupons of No. 14.”
The servant appeared. Emma understood, and asked how much money would be wanted to put a stop to the proceedings.
“It is too late.”
“But if I brought you several thousand francs—a quarter of the sum—a third—perhaps the whole?”