Pizarro recovered himself, and replied with emphasis: "By the Crucifix, that it can!—provided gold enough be offered." "Provided gold enough be offered!" repeated the Inca, unable to conceal his eagerness. "Then hear me, General Pizarro: Promise me liberty, and I will cover the floor of this room with gold!" The company ceased talking. Pizarro looked at him in astonishment, while a smile of incredulity went round the table. Atahualpa misinterpreted the silence and the expression, taking them to mean that his offer was too meagre. He looked from one to another for a moment, then sprang to his feet, and striding to the wall, stretched his hand above his head as far as he could reach. "I will fill the room to this height with gold, Viracochas!—Is it enough?" he demanded, his eyes blazing with hardly suppressed excitement. "Is it enough?" Still the Spaniards were silent—dumb with amazement. Several had arisen. "Mad!" whispered one. The Inca stood waiting for their reply, his arm upraised, his commanding figure drawn to its full height, glittering in the lamplight with gems and golden decorations, while his dark eyes gleamed from beneath the fringe of the _llautu_ as he surveyed the astonished Viracochas. "Is it not enough?" he demanded again. "Then a like amount of silver!" "Hold, in the name of Heaven!" exclaimed Cristoval warningly in Quichua. Pizarro regained his voice: "What sayest thou, Peralta?—Can he do it? Ask the noble beside thee!" The noble answered with emphasis in the affirmative. "Then ’t is done!" shouted Pizarro, unable to restrain his excitement. "Done! Agreed, my Lord Inca! We accept your offer. Make good your terms, and you are a free man—at liberty to go and come without let or hindrance. Here is my hand upon it. Wait!—We’ll give you an instrument in writing. Zapato, step out and send an orderly for my secretary. Hernando, mount a chair and scratch a mark with thy dagger where the Inca put his hand. My lord, deign to raise your hand again. By the gods, Señores! What say you to ’t? A hundred thousand demons! D’ye believe your ears? We are all rich men! Ask the noble again, Peralta, whether he can do it!—Ask another of them! Saith he yes? Art sure? Blood and wounds and gods of war! Ha, ha! What say ye to’t, Señores?" Pizarro’s cold reserve had gone. Cristoval had rarely seen him smile before: now he laughed, even roared, not pleasantly; and his pale countenance showed unaccustomed color. The _veedor_ had pulled several times at his sleeve, unheeded. "Pizarro!" he whispered. "Pizarro! Hold off a bit! He would have offered more, I am sure of it!" Pizarro turned upon him with impatience: "Oh, a curse upon thy money-gluttony, Rogelio! Hath it no bounds? Art insatiable? Be silent!" "He had opened his mouth to offer more, I’ll swear it! Oh, misery!" snuffled the _veedor_, as he turned away.