fire. Something must be done however. Go to Trufaldin.

LEL. What to do?

MASC. I don't know.

LEL. Zounds! this is too much. You drive me mad with this idle talk.

MASC. Sir, if you could lay your hand on plenty of pistoles, [Footnote:
The pistole is a Spanish gold coin worth about four dollars; formerly
the French pistole was worth in France ten _livres_--about ten
francs--they were struck in Franche-Comte.] we should have no need now
to think of and try to find out what means we must employ in compassing
our wishes; we might, by purchasing this slave quickly, prevent your
rival from forestalling and thwarting you. Trufaldin, who takes charge
of her, is rather uneasy about these gipsies, who placed her with him.
If he could get back his money, which they have made him wait for too
long, I am quite sure he would be delighted to sell her; for he always
lived like the veriest curmudgeon; he would allow himself to be whipped
for the smallest coin of the realm. Money is the God he worships above
everything, but the worst of it is that...

LEL. What is the worst of it?...

MASC. That your father is just as covetous an old hunk, who does not
allow you to handle his ducats, as you would like; that there is no way
by which we could now open ever so small a purse, in order to help you.
But let us endeavour to speak to Celia for a moment, to know what she
thinks about this affair; this is her window.