"What fortune?"
"Their own--M. de Morcerf's, who is deceased."
"For what reason?"
"Because they would not spend money so guiltily acquired."
"And what are they to live upon?"
"The mother retires into the country, and the son enters the army."
"Well, I must confess, these are scruples."
"I registered their deed of gift yesterday."
"And how much did they possess?"
"Oh, not much--from twelve to thirteen hundred thousand francs.
But to return to our millions."
"Certainly," said Danglars, in the most natural tone in the world. "Are you then pressed for this money?"
"Yes; for the examination of our cash takes place to-morrow."
"To-morrow?
Why did you not tell me so before?
Why, it is as good as a century!
At what hour does the examination take place?"
"At two o'clock."
"Send at twelve," said Danglars, smiling.
M. de Boville said nothing, but nodded his head, and took up the portfolio.
"Now I think of it, you can do better," said Danglars.
"How do you mean?"
"The receipt of M. de Monte Cristo is as good as money; take it to Rothschild's or Lafitte's, and they will take it off your hands at once."
"What, though payable at Rome?"
"Certainly; it will only cost you a discount of 5,000 or 6,000 francs."
The receiver started back.
"Ma foi," he said, "I prefer waiting till to-morrow.
What a proposition!"
"I thought, perhaps," said Danglars with supreme impertinence, "that you had a deficiency to make up?"
"Indeed," said the receiver.
"And if that were the case it would be worth while to make some sacrifice."
"Thank you, no, sir."
"Then it will be to-morrow."
"Yes; but without fail."
"Ah, you are laughing at me; send to-morrow at twelve, and the bank shall be notified."
"I will come myself."
"Better still, since it will afford me the pleasure of seeing you."
They shook hands.
"By the way," said M. de Boville, "are you not going to the funeral of poor Mademoiselle de Villefort, which I met on my road here?"
"No," said the banker; "I have appeared rather ridiculous since that affair of Benedetto, so I remain in the background."
"Bah, you are wrong.
How were you to blame in that affair?" "Listen--when one bears an irreproachable name, as I do, one is rather sensitive."
"Everybody pities you, sir; and, above all, Mademoiselle Danglars!"
"Poor Eugenie!" said Danglars; "do you know she is going to embrace a religious life?"
"No."
"Alas, it is unhappily but too true.
The day after the event, she decided on leaving Paris with a nun of her acquaintance; they are gone to seek a very strict convent in Italy or Spain."
"Oh, it is terrible!" and M. de Boville retired with this exclamation, after expressing acute sympathy with the father.
But he had scarcely left before Danglars, with an energy of action those can alone understand who have seen Robert Macaire represented by Frederic, [*] exclaimed,--"Fool!"
Then enclosing Monte Cristo's receipt in a little pocket-book, he added:--"Yes, come at twelve o'clock; I shall then be far away."