kind of you.”
“No; I have come to speak to you of a very serious matter.”
“A serious matter,” said the count, looking at Franz with the earnestness usual to him; “and what may it be?”
“Are we alone?”
“Yes,” replied the count, going to the door, and returning. Franz gave him Albert’s letter.
“Read that,” he said.
The count read it.
“Well, well!” said he.
“Did you see the postscript?”
“I did, indeed.
“ ‘Se alle sei della mattina le quattro mille piastre non sono nelle mie mani, alla sette il conte Alberto avrà cessato di vivere.
“What think you of that?” inquired Franz.
“Have you the money he demands?”
“Yes, all but eight hundred piastres.”
The count