“Pray do so.”
There was a moment’s silence, during which the noise of the banker’s pen was alone heard, while Monte Cristo examined the gilt mouldings on the ceiling.
“Are they Spanish, Haitian, or Neapolitan bonds?” said Monte Cristo.
“No,” said Danglars, smiling, “they are bonds on the bank of France, payable to bearer. Stay, count,” he added, “you, who may be called the emperor, if I claim the title of king of finance, have you many pieces of paper of this size, each worth a million?”
The count took into his hands the papers, which Danglars had so proudly presented to him, and read:—
“‘To the Governor of the Bank. Please pay to my order, from the fund deposited by me, the sum of a million, and charge the same to my account.
“Baron Danglars.’”
“One, two, three, four, five,” said Monte Cristo; “five millions—why what a Crœsus you are!”
“This is how I transact business,” said Danglars.
“It is really wonderful,” said the count; “above all, if, as I suppose, it is payable at sight.”
“It is, indeed,” said Danglars.
“It is a fine thing to have such credit; really, it is only in France these things are done. Five millions on five little scraps of paper!—it must be seen to be believed.”
“You do not doubt it?”
“No!”
“You say so with an accent—stay, you shall be convinced; take my clerk to the bank, and you will see him leave it with an order on the Treasury for the same sum.”