"Now, we want the directions for the secret treasure, without which the assignment may not be effective."
"Here are two keys," said the merchant, drawing them from his pocket. "The one opens the door of a little vault which connects with the room that serves as my office----"
"In the room that serves as office," repeated the scribe, writing while he repeated the words of the merchant. The latter proceeded: "The other key opens an iron-bound box back of the vault. In that box will be found the bars of silver and a casket containing the eight hundred and sixty gold pieces. I own not another denier. And here, worthy masters, you have me and my daughter as poor as the poorest serf. I have not wronged the seigneur of Plouernel a single obole. But, for all that, we shall not lose courage!"
While the scribe finished transcribing the directions of Bezenecq, the latter, occupied only with his daughter, did not notice, any more than she, what was going on a few steps off in that cell, so feebly lighted by the lanterns, seeing that night had already fallen. One of the gaolers commenced heaping the coals and fagots under the gridiron.
"The seigneur of Plouernel may send his messenger to Nantes with an escort," Bezenecq observed to Garin the Serf-eater. "If the messenger is quick he can be back to-morrow night. We shall surely, my daughter and I, be set at liberty when the seigneur count will be in possession of my property. Only, while waiting for the hour of our departure from the castle, be generous enough, bailiff, to have us taken to some other place, whatever it be, only less depressing than this. My daughter is broken down with fatigue; moreover, she is very timid. She would spend a sad night in this cell, surrounded by instruments of torture."
"Now that you mention these engines of punishment," said Garin the Serf-eater, with a strange smile, and taking the hand of the bourgeois, "come, Bezenecq the Rich, I wish to explain their use to you, especially their mechanism."
"I am not inquisitive to learn the details."
"That surname of 'Rich' that you insist in applying to me, is no longer mine," said the merchant with a sad smile; "rather call me Bezenecq the Poor."
"Oh," exclaimed Garin, as if in doubt and shrugging his shoulders. He then added: "Come on, Bezenecq the Rich!"