“By the way,” said the major, “you know I have only the 2,000 francs which the Abbé Busoni sent me; this sum I have expended upon travelling expenses, and——”
“And you want money; that is a matter of course, my dear M. Cavalcanti. Well, here are 8,000 francs on account.”
The major’s eyes sparkled brilliantly.
“It is 40,000 francs which I now owe you,” said Monte Cristo.
“Does your excellency wish for a receipt?” said the major, at the same time slipping the money into the inner pocket of his coat.
“For what?” said the count.
“I thought you might want it to show the Abbé Busoni.”
“Well, when you receive the remaining 40,000, you shall give me a receipt in full. Between honest men such excessive precaution is, I think, quite unnecessary.”
“Yes, so it is, between perfectly upright people.”
“One word more,” said Monte Cristo.
“Say on.”
“You will permit me to make one remark?”
“Certainly; pray do so.”
“Then I should advise you to leave off wearing that style of dress.”
“Indeed,” said the major, regarding himself with an air of complete satisfaction.
“Yes. It may be worn at Via Reggio; but that costume, however elegant in itself, has long been out of fashion in Paris.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Oh, if you really are attached to your old mode of dress; you can easily resume it when you leave Paris.”
“But what shall I wear?”
“What you find in your trunks.”
“In my trunks? I have but one portmanteau.”
“I dare say you have nothing else with you. What is the use of boring one’s self with so many things? Besides an old soldier always likes to march with as little baggage as possible.”