"That's my secret; and you know I keep my secrets to myself. All that I can tell you is that he is in safe keeping, and that he won't get out before he has spoken."
"So the prince is sold?"
"Sold is the word. And he has had to fork out to attain this fine result! Oh, I've had a good time to-night! . . . Poor prince!"
"For all that," said the other, "we shall have to get rid of him."
"Make your mind easy, old man; that won't take long. Before a week's out you shall have a present of a pocket-book made out of Lupin-skin. But let me go to bed now. I'm dropping with sleep."
There was a sound of the door closing. Then Sernine heard the baron push the bolt, empty his pockets, wind up his watch and undress. He seemed in a gay mood, whistling and singing, and even talking aloud:
"Yes, a Lupin-skin pocket-book . . . in less than a week . . . in less than four days! . . . Otherwise he'll eat us up, the bully! . . . No matter, he missed his shot to-night. . . . His calculation was right enough, though . . . Steinweg was bound to be here. . . . Only, there you are! . . ."
He got into bed and at once switched off the light.
Sernine had come forward as far as the dividing curtain, which he now lifted slightly, and he saw the vague light of the night filtering through the windows, leaving the bed in profound darkness.
He hesitated. Should he leap out upon the baron, take him by the throat and obtain from him by force and threats what he had not been able to obtain by craft? Absurd? Altenheim would never allow himself to be intimidated.