"How much have you in your sack?" asked Fatia Negra.
"A hundredweight and eighty pounds."
"Now we'll see into how much pure gold it will work out."
"The dross mixed with it is only a few pounds in weight."
"Of what quality is it?"
"Well, they purify it very incompletely you know. It is only two-and-twenty carat gold."
"It doesn't matter: we will coin Prussian ducats out of it."
"But where's the mould?"
"I brought it with me, to-day; we'll adjust that also to the machine. We shall gain a hundred florins in every thousand."
Old Onucz kissed Fatia Negra's hand. "Domnule," said he, "you are a man indeed. Domnule, since you became our chief our gains have doubled and the ducats are so good that one cannot distinguish them from the Imperial ones."