"The rest?" said the lady. "Oh, that is being made at Vienna."
"No joking, now. I know there were two thousand florins in this purse."
"If all that has ever been in that purse were here now, it would be enough for both of us."
"The devil take you!" cried the thief, beating the table with his fist so that the spirit flame flickered in the plate. "I don't understand jokes. In this purse just now there were two thousand florins, the price of the wool you sold day before yesterday at Debreczen. What has become of the rest?"
"Come here, I'll give you an account of it," said the lady, counting on her fingers with the point of the knife. "Two hundred I gave to the furrier—four hundred to the saddler—three hundred to the grocer—three hundred to the tailor:—two hundred I spent in the market: count how much remains."
"None of your arithmetic for me. I only want money, much money! Where is much money?"
"As I said already, at Körmöcz, in the mint."
"Enough of your foolery!" threatened the highwayman. "For if I begin to search, you won't thank me for it."
"Well, search the carriage over; all you find in it is yours."
"I shan't search the coach, but you, too, to your skin."