"You want to rob me."
"Not at all; you will see that my plan will bring you quite a neat little income."
"All right, let me hear it, then; and the devil take you!"
"Well, it is this: if you would only just help me a little at first, I am sure I could succeed; it seems to me that it runs in the blood to do it. Let us build, in partnership, a kiln at Popielnia. We will both attend to the firing of the pottery; and as a compensation for your trouble, half of my profits shall belong to you as long as you live, and you need do nothing all day long but lie down with your feet in the sun and your head in the shade."
At this Procope shook his head gravely.
"That would not be a bad thing; but who will go security for you?"
"Your lord."
"The old officer, the wicked old scoundrel?" cried Procope.
"Yes, he himself; he has seen and pitied the trying situation in which I am placed in my old age, and has advised me to do this to remedy it."
Procope was confounded, and for a moment made no reply. He looked puzzled, and pulled his beard.