“But since I tell you,” cried Danglars, “that with these three million——”
“Do you expect to recover your position, sir, without touching those three million?”
“I hope so, if the marriage should take place and confirm my credit.”
“Shall you be able to pay M. Cavalcanti the five hundred thousand francs you promise for my dowry?”
“He shall receive them on returning from the mayor’s.”
“Very well!”
“What next? what more do you want?”
“I wish to know if, in demanding my signature, you leave me entirely free in my person?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then, as I said before, sir,—very well; I am ready to marry M. Cavalcanti.”
“But what are you up to?”
“Ah, that is my affair. What advantage should I have over you, if knowing your secret I were to tell you mine?”
Danglars bit his lips. “Then,” said he, “you are ready to pay the official visits, which are absolutely indispensable?”
“Yes,” replied Eugénie.
“And to sign the contract in three days?”
“Yes.”
“Then, in my turn, I also say, very well!”
Danglars pressed his daughter’s hand in his. But, extraordinary to relate, the father did not say, “Thank you, my child,” nor did the daughter smile at her father.
“Is the conference ended?” asked Eugénie, rising.
Danglars motioned that he had nothing more to say. Five minutes afterwards the piano resounded to the touch of Mademoiselle d’Armilly’s fingers, and Mademoiselle Danglars was singing Brabantio’s malediction on Desdemona. At the end of the piece Étienne entered, and announced to Eugénie that the horses were to the carriage, and that the baroness was waiting for her to pay her visits. We have seen them at Villefort’s; they proceeded then on their course.