"Yes, but I can't touch my cash-box; I have to give it up this day week."

"So you can; as I will repay you on Saturday. Take a hundred louis from
the box, and put in my word of honour instead; don't you think that is
worth a hundred Louis?"

"I have nothing to say to that, wait for me a minute."

I ran to my office, took out the money and gave it to him. Saturday came
but no count, and as I had no money I pawned my diamond ring and replaced
the hundred louis I owed the till. Three or four days afterwards, as I
was at the Comedie Francaise, the Count de la Tour d'Auvergne came up to
me and began to apologize. I replied by shewing my hand, and telling him
that I had pawned my ring to save my honour. He said, with a melancholy
air, that a man had failed to keep his word with him, but he would be
sure to give me the hundred louis on the Saturday following, adding, "I
give you my word of honour."

"Your word of honour is in my box, so let's say nothing about that. You
can repay me when you like."

The count grew as pale as death.

"My word of honour, my dear Casanova, is more precious to me than my
life; and I will give you the hundred louis at nine o'clock to-morrow
morning at a hundred paces from the cafe at the end of the
Champs-Elysees. I will give you them in person, and nobody will see us. I
hope you will not fail to be there, and that you will bring your sword. I
shall have mine."