“About as much as silver,” coolly retorted the count.
“I am a poor man,” began the Jew.
“Now, Hakkabut, stop these miserable lamentations of yours, once for all. Hand us over two hundred and thirty francs in silver money, or we will proceed to help ourselves.”
Isaac began to yell with all his might: “Thieves! thieves!”
In a moment Ben Zoof’s hand was clasped tightly over his mouth. “Stop that howling, Belshazzar!”
“Let him alone, Ben Zoof. He will soon come to his senses,” said Servadac, quietly.
When the old Jew had again recovered himself, the captain addressed him. “Now, tell us, what interest do you expect?”
Nothing could overcome the Jew’s anxiety to make another good bargain. He began: “Money is scarce, very scarce, you know—”
“No more of this!” shouted Servadac. “What interest, I say, what interest do you ask?”
Faltering and undecided still, the Jew went on. “Very scarce, you know. Ten francs a day, I think, would not be unreasonable, considering—”