"Yes, I promised it to her."
"Have you seen her again?"
"No. I must."
"To whom will you give it?"
"I don't know. Not to you."
"Why not?"
"You're not fit for it."
He took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
"I was no more fit for it yesterday," he said.
"I won't argue it."
"As you please, sire," said he with a shrug, and he seemed to pull himself together. He rose and stood before me with a smile on his lips.
I sat down, took a piece of paper, wrote a draft, leaving the amount unstated, and pushed it across to him. He looked down at it in wonder. Then his face lit up with eagerness.
"You mean—you mean?" he stammered.
"My ransom," said I.
"Mine!" he cried.
"No, it is mine, the price of my freedom."
He lifted the piece of paper in a hand that trembled.
"It's a lot of money," he said. "Eighty or ninety thousand marks."
"My name is good for that."
He looked me in the face, opening his lips but not speaking. Then he thrust out his hand to me. I took it; I was as much moved as he.
"Don't tempt me again," I said.
He gripped my hand hard and fiercely; when he released it I waved it toward the door. I could trust myself no more. He turned to go; but I called to him again:
