Æsop made his wishes clear. "There is a little lodge yonder in the darkness at the end of that alley, hard by the small gate that is seldom used. You know the gate, for you sometimes used to wait in that little lodge when a late exalted personage chose to walk abroad incognito."
Breant frowned at him. "You know much, Master Æsop."
Æsop shrugged his shoulders. "I am a wizard. But it needs no wizard to guess that, as the exalted personage is no longer with us, he will not walk abroad to-night, and you will not have to yawn and doze in the lodge till he return."
"What then?" asked Breant.
Æsop lowered his voice to a whisper. "Let me have the key of the little lodge for to-night."
Breant lifted his hands in protest. "Impossible!" he said.
Æsop shook his head. "I hate that word, Monsieur Breant. ’Tis a vile word. Come now, twenty louis and the key of the lodge for an hour after midnight."
Breant looked at the purse and looked at the hunchback. "Why do you want it?" he asked.
Æsop laughed mockingly. "Vanity. I wish to walk this ball like a gentleman. I have fine clothes; they lie now in a bundle on the lodge step. If I had the key I could slip inside and change and change again and enjoy myself, and no one the worse or the wiser."
The purse seemed to grow larger to Breant’s eyes, and his objections to dwindle proportionately. "A queer whim, crookback," he said.