He drew from his pocket, with heroic bravery, a purse embroidered with a coat-of-arms, which he carefully concealed in the hollow of his hand. This purse was of a thinness, a flabbiness, a hollowness, which did not escape the eye of Cropole. The unknown emptied the purse into his hand. It contained three double louis, which amounted to the six louis demanded by the host. But it was seven that Cropole had required. He looked, therefore, at the unknown, as much as to say, “And then?” “There remains one louis, does there not, master hotelier?” “Yes, monsieur, but—” The unknown plunged his hand into the pocket of his haut-de-chausses, and emptied it. It contained a small pocket-book, a gold key, and some silver. With this change, he made up a louis. “Thank you, monsieur,” said Cropole. “It now only remains for me to ask whether monsieur intends to occupy his apartments to-morrow, in which case I will reserve them for him; whereas, if monsieur does not mean to do so, I will promise them to some of the king’s people who are coming.” “That is but right,” said the unknown, after a long silence; “but as I have no more money, as you have seen, and as I yet must retain the apartments, you must either sell this diamond in the city, or hold it in pledge.” Cropole looked at the diamond so long, that the unknown said, hastily: “I prefer your selling it, monsieur; for it is worth three hundred pistoles. A Jew—are there any Jews in Blois?—would give you two hundred or a hundred and fifty for it—take whatever may be offered for it, if it be no more than the price of your lodging. Begone!” “Oh! monsieur,” replied Cropole, ashamed of the sudden inferiority which the unknown reflected upon him by this noble and disinterested confidence, as well as by the unalterable patience opposed to so many suspicions and evasions. “Oh, monsieur, I hope people are not so dishonest at Blois as you seem to think; and that the diamond, being worth what you say—” The unknown here again darted at Cropole one of his withering glances. “I really do not understand diamonds, monsieur, I assure you,” cried he. “But the jewelers do: ask them,” said the unknown. “Now I believe our accounts are settled, are they not, monsieur l’hote?” “Yes, monsieur, and to my profound regret; for I fear I have offended monsieur.” “Not at all!” replied the unknown, with ineffable majesty. “Or have appeared to be extortionate with a noble traveler. Consider, monsieur, the peculiarity of the case.” “Say no more about it, I desire; and leave me to myself.” Cropole bowed profoundly, and left the room with a stupefied air, which announced that he had a good heart, and felt genuine remorse. The unknown himself shut the door after him, and, when left alone, looked mournfully at the bottom of the purse, from which he had taken a small silken bag containing the diamond, his last resource.