Sunk in the high-backed chair, his chin fallen on his breast, it was in his eyes alone, peering from below bent brows, that he seemed to live.
"He would not waive his claim," Basterga answered gently, "save on a--but in substance that was all." Blondel raised himself slowly and stiffly in the chair.

His lips parted.
"In substance ?" he muttered hoarsely, "There was more then ?" Basterga shrugged his shoulders.

"There was.

Save, the Grand Duke added, on the condition--but the condition which followed was inadmissible." Blondel gave vent to a cackling laugh.

"Inadmissible ?" he muttered.
"Inadmissible." And then, "You are not a dying man, Messer Basterga, or you would think--few things inadmissible." "Impossible, then." "What was it?
What was it ?"--with a gesture eloquent of the impatience that was choking him.
"He asked," Basterga replied reluctantly, "a price." "A price ?" The big man nodded.
The Syndic rose up and sat down again.