"Never mind. You bought the boy. From whom?"
"From some gypsies at the great fair of Beaucaire," the showman answered sullenly.
"Who is he?"
Crafty Eyes laughed dryly. "If I knew I should not be padding the hoof," he said. "Or, again, he may be nobody, and the tale patter. You have heard as much as I have. What do you think?"
"I think I shall find out when I have bought the boy," the stranger answered coolly. "What will you take for him?"
The showman gasped again. "You come to the point," he said.
"It is my custom. What is his price?"
The showman's imagination had never soared beyond nor his ears ever heard of a larger sum than a thousand crowns. He mentioned it trembling. There might be such a sum in the world.
"A thousand livres, if you like. Not a sou more," was the answer.
The nearer lantern threw a strong light on Crafty Eyes' face; but that was mere shadow beside the light of cupidity which sparkled in his eyes. He could get another boy; scores of boys. But a thousand livres! A thousand livres! "Tournois!" he said faintly. "Livres Tournois!" In his wildest moments of avarice he had never dreamed of possessing such a sum.