“I ask you, how much do you want? this is a cheque I have here, which I am ready to sign in your favour; fix the amount yourself, and let us have done with this nonsense.”
A gleam of cupidity flashed in the usurer’s eyes, but that astute personage did not yield to the temptation. It was not in that fashion he hoped to bleed the Englishman; his project was more pretentious, his plan more complicated than that. The old man feigned the greatest indignation:
“It is shameful, sir; you insult me! After your villainous treatment of my niece, you offer me money. Sir, you mistake my character altogether! No, sir, I do not take that bait, the affair must follow its course!”
Ascott turned livid. “Moche,” he supplicated, “we are friends ...”
“We were friends, sir.”
“Moche!... Monsieur Moche! I cannot have a scandal!”
“Nini Guinon, my niece, sir, is dishonoured.”
“But, Moche, how can this be arranged?”
“There is but one way, sir, to right the wrong done, religion and society offer you the means.”