“I refuse, with all due deference to you, signor reverendo, to return you the book I have bought.”
“Then I can only regret,” he said in a voice of profound commiseration. “You misconstrue my motive, but how can I blame you? I probably should, if I were in ignorance, as you are.”
“Then you should enlighten me.”
“Ah?” he sighed again. “I only wish it were admissible. But I cannot. If you refuse to forego your bargain, I can do nothing. When you entered here I treated you as a stranger; and now, although you do not see it, I am treating you as a friend.”
I smiled. Used as I was to the subtleness of the trading Tuscan, I was suspicious that he regretted having sold the book to me at such a low price, and was trying to obtain more without asking for it point-blank.
“Well, signor priore,” I said bluntly a moment later, “suppose I gave you an extra hundred francs for it, would that make any difference to your desire to retain possession of it?”
“None whatever,” he responded. “If you gave me ten thousand more I would not willingly allow you to have it in your possession.”
His reply was certainly a strange one, and caused me a few moments’ reflection.
“But why did you sell it if you wish to retain it?” I asked.
“Because at the time you were not my friend,” he replied evasively. “You are now—I know you, and for that reason I give you warning. If you take the book from this house, recollect it is at your risk, and you will assuredly regret having done so.”