The countenance of the prince seemed to brighten, for, earnestly occupied with the powerful interests of which M. Pascal had necessarily become the umpire, he forgot the impertinence and calculated wickedness of this man, who found a savage delight in making his victim pass through all the perplexities of fear and hope. At the end of a few moments, each one of which brought new anxiety to the prince, M. Pascal exclaimed: "Impossible, that! impossible! For me everything would be annulled by this first supplementary article. It is a mockery!" "Monsieur," cried the prince, "speak more clearly!" "Pardon me, monseigneur, at that moment I was reading to myself. Well and good, if you wish, I will read for both of us." The archduke bowed his head, turned red with suppressed indignation, appeared discouraged, and leaned his head on his hand. M. Pascal, continuing his perusal of the paper, threw a glance by stealth at the prince, and replied after a few moments, in a more satisfied tone: "This is a sure, incontestable security." Then, as the prince seemed to regain hope, he added: "Unfortunately, this security is apart from--" He did not finish, but continued his reading in silence. Never a solicitor in distress imploring a haughty and unfeeling protector, never a despairing borrower humbly addressing a dishonest and whimsical usurer, never accused seeking to read his pardon or condemnation in the countenance of his judge, experienced the torture felt by the prince while M. Pascal was reading the note which he had examined and which he now laid on the table. "Well, monsieur," said the prince, swallowing his impatience, "what do you decide?" "Monseigneur, will you have the kindness to lend me a pen and some paper?" The prince pushed an inkstand, a pen, and some paper before M. Pascal, who began a long series of figures, sometimes lifting his eyes to the ceiling, as if to make a calculation in his head, sometimes muttering incomplete sentences, such as-- "No--I am mistaken because--but I was about to forget--it is evident--the balance will be equal if--" After long expectation on the part of the prince, M. Pascal threw the pen down on the table, plunged both hands in the pockets of his trousers, threw his head back, and shut his eyes, as if making a last mental calculation, then, holding his head up, said in a short, peremptory voice: "Impossible, monseigneur." "What, monsieur!" cried the prince, dismayed. "You assured me in our first interview that the operation was practicable." "Practicable, monseigneur, but not accomplished." "But this note, monsieur, this note, joined to the securities I have offered you?" "This note completes, I know, the securities indispensable to such an operation." "Then, monsieur, how do you account for your refusal?" "For particular reasons, monseigneur." "But, I ask again, do I not offer all the security desirable?"