The Comte was quick to press what he took to be his advantage.

“A bagatelle of one hundred thousand francs,” he said. “I ask no more.”

“Eh?” said Derek absently.

“I was saying, Monsieur, that a bagatelle of one hundred thousand francs would satisfy my⁠—conscience.”

Derek seemed to recollect himself. He looked earnestly at the Comte.

“You would like my answer now?”

“If you please, Monsieur.”

“Then here it is. You can go to the devil. See?”

Leaving the Comte too astonished to speak, Derek turned on his heel and swung out of the room.