"So much as that, indeed?" said the trembling Jew, sorrowfully, untying his leathern purse. He was fortunate in not having more in his purse, and in the heyduke not being able to count beyond a hundred.
"Come, my lord, let us be gone quickly. You see what a bad set of men they are here," said Yankel, seeing the heyduke was turning the money over in his hand, as if regretting he had not asked more.
"How now? devil's heyduke!" said Boolba. "Thou hast taken the money, and dost not think to let us in? Thou must do it now; if thou hast once received the money, thou canst no longer give us a refusal."
"Begone, begone to the devil! or I will at once make thee known, and then, beware! Away with you, I tell you!"
"Come, my lord, in Heaven's name come. Woe to them! May they have such dreams as shall make them spit!" urged poor Yankel.
Slowly, with drooping head, did Boolba turn back and retrace his steps, with Yankel worrying him with reproaches at the sorrowful recollection of the uselessly spent ducats.
"What need had you to answer them? Why not let the dog bark? They are people who cannot remain without scolding! Oh, woe is me! how lucky some men are! A hundred ducats, merely for driving us away! And look at us, we may have our temple-locks torn off, we may have our faces so disfigured that none will look at us, and nobody will give us a hundred ducats! Heavens! merciful Heavens!"
But the miscarriage of his design had a much greater influence on Boolba: a devouring flame streamed from his eyes.
"Come," said he, suddenly, as if recollecting himself, "let us go to the execution; I will see how they torture him."
"What is the use of going, my lord? we cannot help him."