“Not there upon my honor,” says I.
“Hang your honor, sir! Brush my hat and coat, and go CALL A COACH—do you hear?”
. . . . . .
I did as I was ordered; and on coming back found master in what's called, I think, the greffe of the prisn. The officer in waiting had out a great register, and was talking to master in the French tongue, in coarse; a number of poar prisners were looking eagerly on.
“Let us see, my lor,” says he; “the debt is 98,700 francs; there are capture expenses, interest so much; and the whole sum amounts to a hundred thousand francs, moins 13.”
Deuceace, in a very myjestic way, takes out of his pocketbook four thowsnd pun notes. “This is not French money, but I presume that you know it, M. Greffier,” says he.
The greffier turned round to old Solomon, a money-changer, who had one or two clients in the prisn, and hapnd luckily to be there. “Les billets sont bons,” says he. “Je les prendrai pour cent mille douze cent francs, et j'espere, my lor, de vous revoir.”
“Good,” says the greffier; “I know them to be good, and I will give my lor the difference, and make out his release.”
Which was done. The poar debtors gave a feeble cheer, as the great dubble iron gates swung open and clang to again, and Deuceace stept out and me after him, to breathe the fresh hair.
He had been in the place but six hours, and was now free again—free, and to be married to ten thousand a year nex day. But, for all that, he lookt very faint and pale. He HAD put down his great stake; and when he came out of Sainte Pelagie, he had but fifty pounds left in the world!