“Possibly, after all.”
“Certainly. But you must let me make my observations, or the Frenchman will transact his business without my knowing the sum.”
Peppino nodded, and taking a rosary from his pocket began to mutter a few prayers while the clerk disappeared through the same door by which Danglars and the attendant had gone out. At the expiration of ten minutes the clerk returned with a beaming countenance.
“Well?” asked Peppino of his friend.
“Joy, joy—the sum is large!”
“Five or six millions, is it not?”
“Yes, you know the amount.”
“On the receipt of the Count of Monte Cristo?”
“Why, how came you to be so well acquainted with all this?”
“I told you we were informed beforehand.”
“Then why do you apply to me?”
“That I may be sure I have the right man.”
“Yes, it is indeed he. Five millions—a pretty sum, eh, Peppino?”
“Hush—here is our man!” The clerk seized his pen, and Peppino his beads; one was writing and the other praying when the door opened. Danglars looked radiant with joy; the banker accompanied him to the door. Peppino followed Danglars.
According to the arrangements, the carriage was waiting at the door. The guide held the door open. Guides are useful people, who will turn their hands to anything. Danglars leaped into the carriage like a young man of twenty. The cicerone reclosed the door, and sprang up by the side of the coachman. Peppino mounted the seat behind.
“Will your excellency visit Saint Peter’s?” asked the cicerone.