"No doubt. My present wheeze is getting about played out. A good thing like this can't run for any length of time. In a week, for obvious reasons, I shall lock up the doors and depart with Mother Valentin, leaving the landlord looking for his rent and my clients thirsting for my vitals. Yes, you are right, my dear Zertho, when you say this will be your last visit here. But if the mountain will not come to Mahomet, the latter must go to the mountain. I may, perhaps, call upon you, my dear Zertho." "No, you sha'n't. I shall give orders that you are not to be admitted." "You will scarcely do that, I think," he answered, still smiling. The whole bearing of the man betrayed confidence in his position. "But I tell you I will. I have come here to-night in fulfilment of your demand. It is, however, the last time that we shall meet." "I hope so." "Why?" "I hope that you'll pay me a sum sufficient to obviate the necessity of us meeting again. I assure you that the pleasure of your company is not unmixed with dislike." "It is mutual," Zertho snapped, annoyed at the man's unmitigated insolence. "I'll pay you nothing more than what you demanded in your letter yesterday," and taking from his pocket a wallet of dark-green leather with silver mountings, he counted out four five-hundred-franc notes, and tossed them angrily upon the table, saying, "Make the best of them, for you won't get another sou from me." The man addressed stretched out his hand, took the notes, smoothed them out carefully, and slowly placed them in his pocket. "Then we are enemies?" he observed at last, after a long pause. He looked straight into Zertho's face. "Enemies or friends, it makes no difference to me. It does not alter my decision." His companion slowly knocked the ash from his cigar, then continued smoking in silence. "Well, you don't speak," exclaimed Zertho, impatiently, at last, twirling his dark moustache. "What is your intention?" "I never show my hand to my opponent, my dear fellow," was the quick retort. "And I know you are never unwise enough to do so." Zertho had his match in this _chevalier d'industrie_, and was aware of it. "You think I'm still in fear?" he said. "I don't know; neither do I care," the other answered. "If you don't pay me there are others who no doubt will." Zertho sprang quickly from his chair with a look of murderous hatred in his dark face and flashing eyes. "You would still threaten me!" he said between his teeth. "You taunt me because you believe I am entirely in your hands." "I do not believe," the other replied with cool indifference. "I know." "You are an infernal scoundrel!" "I might pass a similar compliment," he said. "But I see no reason why the pot should comment unfavourably upon the blackness of the kettle. I'm merely assisting you to obtain a pretty wife--a wife, by Heaven, too pure and good and beautiful for any such as you, and--"