"No, but you were graciously pleased not to forbid me to do so. Now, I know everything. I know the cause of the young lady's illness. I know why she does not wish to become the wife of Count Hátszegi. Nay, I even know what will happen in case she does. I know all that I say—and here it is in my pocket."
"And what presumption on your part to read other people's letters!"
"I beg your honour's pardon, but it is not presumption; I only wanted to know the value of the wares I have obtained for your honour. I wanted to know whether they were worth one florin, two florins, a hundred florins, a thousand florins, lest you should do me the favour to say to me: 'look, ye, Margari, my son, here are some coppers, go and drink my health!'—and so get the better of me."
"You are becoming impertinent! Do you want me to ring for the footman?"
"Pray do not give yourself the trouble! If you are determined to take the documents away from me by force I will fling them into the fire that is burning there on the hearth before the footman can come in and there will be an end to them."
"Then it is money you want, eh? How much?"
This question made Margari still more bumptious.
"How much do I want? A good deal, a very good deal, I can tell you. In fact I cannot tell at present how much."
But then he suddenly reassumed his obsequious cringing mien and added: "I tell you what, your honour, procure me some petty office at Count Hátszegi's. I don't care what it is, so long as I get a life-long sinecure—suppose we say his bailiff, or his librarian, or his secretary? A single word from your honour would do it."
An idea suddenly occurred to Mr. Demetrius.