“I will pay,” he said, “the thousand pounds of silver⁠—That is,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “I will pay it with the help of my brethren; for I must beg as a mendicant at the door of our synagogue ere I make up so unheard-of a sum.⁠—When and where must it be delivered?”

“Here,” replied Front-de-Boeuf, “here it must be delivered⁠—weighed it must be⁠—weighed and told down on this very dungeon floor.⁠—Thinkest thou I will part with thee until thy ransom is secure?”

“And what is to be my surety,” said the Jew, “that I shall be at liberty after this ransom is paid?”

“The word of a Norman noble, thou pawn-broking slave,” answered Front-de-Boeuf; “the faith of a Norman nobleman, more pure than the gold and silver of thee and all thy tribe.”

“I crave pardon, noble lord,” said Isaac timidly, “but wherefore should I rely wholly on the word of one who will trust nothing to mine?”