He had, indeed, long foreseen
what would occur, and even at the moment when he had promised the
bribe he was fully determined never to pay it. The librarian had
taken the bait greedily, and it was his own fault if the result
did not suit him. He had no redress, as Montevarchi had told him;
there was not so much as a note to serve as a record of the
bargain. Meschini had executed the forgery, and he would have to
ruin himself in order to bring any pressure to bear upon his
employer. This the latter felt sure that he would not do, even if
driven to extremities. Meschini's nature was avaricious and there
was no reason to suppose that he was tired of life, or ready to go
to the galleys for a bit of personal vengeance, when, by
exercising a little patience, he might ultimately hope to get some
advantage out of the crime he had committed. Montevarchi meant to
pay him what he considered a fair price for the work, and he did
not see that Meschini had any means of compelling him to pay more.
Now that the thing was done, he began to regret that he himself
had not made some agreement with San Giacinto, but a moment's
reflection sufficed to banish the thought as unworthy of his
superior astuteness. His avarice was on a large scale and was
merging into ambition.
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