Willoughby knit his brows thoughtfully. He was not prepared for such a bold proposal.
“You have some scheme of your own in hand, I suppose?”
“That’s my business.”
“Well, how much are you willing to pay?” he asked, smiling at her suggestion.
“Twenty-five thousand francs—not a centime more. For that sum I require a written undertaking that you’ll commence a suit for divorce against me forthwith. You understand?”
She recognised that if she failed to conciliate her husband’s demands all her schemes would be irretrievably ruined, but her tact at such moments never deserted her, and she was determined that he should not levy blackmail upon her without strengthening her position thereby.
“You hesitate,” she continued. “Why, the whole thing is simple enough. I will supply you with evidence and witnesses, and upon the day the decree is pronounced the money shall be yours.”
“You must have some good fortune. Where will you get the money from?” asked he incredulously.
“What does that matter, as long as you have it? We shall then both be free.”
“What guarantee shall I have that you will pay me after I have obtained the divorce?”