He was not long about it. When he returned he led the stranger into the farthest of the stalls, which, as well as that next to it, was empty. "We can talk here," he said bluntly. "At any rate, I have no better place. The house is full. Now, what is it?" "I want that boy," the tall man answered. The showman laughed--stopped laughing--laughed again. "I dare say you do," he said derisively. "There is not a better or a pluckier boy on the rope out of Paris. And for patter? There is nothing on the road like the bit he did this afternoon, nor a bit that pays as well." "Who taught it him?" the stranger asked. "I did." "That is a lie," the other answered in a perfectly unmoved tone. "If you like I will tell you what you did. You taught him the latter half of the story. The other he knew before: down to the word 'province.'" The showman gasped. "Diable!" he muttered. "Who told you?" "Never mind. You bought the boy. From whom?" "From some gypsies at the great fair of Beaucaire," the showman answered sullenly. "Who is he?" Crafty Eyes laughed dryly. "If I knew I should not be padding the hoof," he said. "Or, again, he may be nobody, and the tale patter. You have heard as much as I have. What do you think?" "I think I shall find out when I have bought the boy," the stranger answered coolly. "What will you take for him?" The showman gasped again. "You come to the point," he said. "It is my custom. What is his price?" The showman's imagination had never soared beyond nor his ears ever heard of a larger sum than a thousand crowns. He mentioned it trembling. There might be such a sum in the world. "A thousand livres, if you like. Not a sou more," was the answer. The nearer lantern threw a strong light on Crafty Eyes' face; but that was mere shadow beside the light of cupidity which sparkled in his eyes. He could get another boy; scores of boys. But a thousand livres! A thousand livres! "Tournois!" he said faintly. "Livres Tournois!" In his wildest moments of avarice he had never dreamed of possessing such a sum. "No, Paris livres," the stranger answered coldly. "Paid to-morrow at the _Golden Chariot_. If you agree, you will deliver the boy to me there at noon, and receive the money." The showman nodded, vanquished by the mere sound of the sum. Paris livres let it be. Danae did not more quickly succumb to the golden shower. CHAPTER II. SOLOMON NÔTREDAME.