"No, let's say forty pounds."
"Not more than that?"
"A little gold, if possible."
I had had time, in two hours, to notice how scarce the yellow metal was.
Forgues raised his hands: That was impossible, quite impossible! I wouldn't get it anywhere! Nobody would part with it!
I persisted. He was a good sort at the bottom! Was it my (unique!!!) position as a man about to be mobilised, which melted him? He ended by handing over fifteen louis to me.
I thanked him warmly and we shook hands.
"And mind you don't get killed!"
He spoke of it lightly. My gratitude ceased promptly.
I suddenly bore him a desperate grudge for having coolly evaded the great blood tax.