Trotto shook his head. "It could be done for a thousand, excellency—for certain."
Simon's eyes seemed to sink back deeper into their hollow sockets, and his face became paler, if possible.
"A thousand devils! Impossible! It's a fortune!"
"Your excellency is playing for a fortune; and this time we win—faith of a gentleman! Make it a thousand crowns, and your bonny bird is yours with the dawn, and I will myself perform the wedding ceremony if you like."
"You?"
"Yes, excellency," and Trotto put his hand to the crown of his head. "My hair has grown, but, you will remember, I am none the less a priest for all that."
There was another silence. Simon knitted his brow, as if in thought.
Then he cursed again at his wounded arm, and spoke:
"It is an exorbitant sum; but I agree on one condition."
"And that is?"
"If you fail you get nothing; you have sucked enough from me already."