"That is for you to decide." The bandit almost saw the snarl on di Lippo's lips as he dropped out slowly: "You are too cautious, my friend--you think to the skin. The rack will come whether you do my business or not." The words were not exactly calculated to soothe, and called up an unpleasant vision before the robber's eyes. A sudden access of wrath shook him. "Begone, signore!" he burst out, "lest my patience exhausts itself, and I give you a bed in the snow. Why I have spared your life, I know not. Begone; warm yourself with a walk----" "I will pay a hundred crowns," interrupted di Lippo. "A hundred devils--begone!" "As you please. Remember, it is a hundred crowns, and, on the faith of a noble, I say nothing about tonight. Where can I find you, in case you change your mind? A hundred crowns is a comfortable sum of money, mind you." There was no excitement about di Lippo. He spoke slowly and distinctly. His cool voice neither rose nor dropped, but he spoke in a steady, chill monotone. A hundred crowns _was_ a comfortable sum of money. It was a sum not to be despised. For a tithe of that--nay, for two pistoles--the Captain Guido Moratti would have risked his life twice over, things had come to such a pass with him. Highway robbery was not exactly his line, although sometimes, as on this occasion, he had been driven to it by the straits of the times. But suppose this offer was a blind? Suppose the man before him merely wanted to know where to get at him, to hand him over to the tender mercies of the thumbscrew and the rack? On the other hand, the man might be in earnest--and a hundred crowns! He hesitated. "A--hun--dred--crowns." The cavaliere repeated these words, and there was a silence. Finally the bandit spoke: "I frankly confess, signore, that stealing purses, even as I have done to-day, is not my way; but a man must live. If you mean what you say, there must be no half-confidences. Tell me who you are, and I will tell you where to find me." "I am the Cavaliere Michele di Lippo of Castel Lippo on the Greve." "Where is Castel Lippo?" "At the junction of the Arno and the Greve--on the left bank." "Very well. In a week you will hear from me again." "It is enough. You will allow me to ransom the horse. I will send you the sum. On my word of honour, I have nothing to pay it at once." "The signore's word of honour is doubtless very white. But a can in the hand is a can in the hand, and I need a horse--Good-night!" "Good-night! But a can in the hand is not always wine to the lips, though a hundred crowns is ever a hundred crowns;" and saying this, di Lippo drew his cloak over the lower part of his face, and turned sharply to the right into the darkness, without so much as giving a look behind him. His horse would have followed; but quick as thought, Moratti's hand was on the trailing reins, and holding them firmly, he stooped and picked up the purse, poising it at arm's-length in front of him.