“Bravo, viscount,” said Monte Cristo, smiling; “you are a delightful cicerone. And now you will do me a favor, will you not?”
“What is it?”
“Do not introduce me to any of these gentlemen; and should they wish it, you will warn me.” Just then the count felt his arm pressed. He turned round; it was Danglars.
“Ah! is it you, baron?” said he.
“Why do you call me baron?” said Danglars; “you know that I care nothing for my title. I am not like you, viscount; you like your title, do you not?”
“Certainly,” replied Albert, “seeing that without my title I should be nothing; while you, sacrificing the baron, would still remain the millionaire.”
“Which seems to me the finest title under the royalty of July,” replied Danglars.
“Unfortunately,” said Monte Cristo, “one’s title to a millionaire does not last for life, like that of baron, peer of France, or academician; for example, the millionaires Franck & Poulmann, of Frankfurt, who have just become bankrupts.”
“Indeed?” said Danglars, becoming pale.
“Yes; I received the news this evening by a courier. I had about a million in their hands, but, warned in time, I withdrew it a month ago.”
“Ah, mon Dieu!” exclaimed Danglars, “they have drawn on me for 200,000 francs!”
“Well, you can throw out the draft; their signature is worth five per cent.”
“Yes, but it is too late,” said Danglars, “I have honored their bills.”
“Then,” said Monte Cristo, “here are 200,000 francs gone after——”
“Hush, do not mention these things,” said Danglars; then, approaching Monte Cristo, he added, “especially before young M. Cavalcanti;” after which he smiled, and turned towards the young man in question.