"Laid out in masses, the sum may profit his poor soul," said Trois-Eschelles.
"Laid out in wine or brantwein, it will comfort my poor body," responded Petit-André. "So let them be forthcoming, my little crack-rope."
"Pay the blood-hounds their fee," said Hayraddin to Durward; "I was plundered of every stiver when they took me – it shall avail thee much."
Quentin paid the executioners their guerdon, and, like men of promise, they retreated out of hearing – keeping, however, a careful eye on the criminal's motions. After waiting an instant till the unhappy man should speak, as he still remained silent, Quentin at length addressed him, "And to this conclusion thou hast at length arrived?"
"Ay," answered Hayraddin, "it required neither astrologer, nor physiognomist, nor chiromantist, to foretell that I should follow the destiny of my family."
"Brought to this early end by thy long course of crime and treachery!" said the Scot.
"No, by the bright Aldeboran and all his brother twinklers!" answered the Bohemian. "I am brought hither by my folly, in believing that the bloodthirsty cruelty of a Frank could be restrained even by what they themselves profess to hold most sacred. A priest's vestment would have been no safer garb for me than a herald's tabard, however sanctimonious are your professions of devotion and chivalry."
"A detected impostor has no right to claim the immunities of the disguise he had usurped," said Durward.
"Detected!" said the Bohemian. "My jargon was as good as yonder old fool of a herald's; – but let it pass. As well now as hereafter."
"You abuse time," said Quentin. "If you have aught to tell me, say it quickly, and then take some care of your soul."