Chapter 104. Danglars’ Signature
The next morning dawned dull and cloudy. During the night theundertakers had executed their melancholy office, and wrapped the corpsein the winding-sheet, which, whatever may be said about the equality ofdeath, is at least a last proof of the luxury so pleasing in life. Thiswinding-sheet was nothing more than a beautiful piece of cambric, whichthe young girl had bought a fortnight before.
During the evening two men, engaged for the purpose, had carriedNoirtier from Valentine’s room into his own, and contrary to allexpectation there was no difficulty in withdrawing him from his child.The Abbé Busoni had watched till daylight, and then left without callinganyone. D’Avrigny returned about eight o’clock in the morning; he metVillefort on his way to Noirtier’s room, and accompanied him to see howthe old man had slept. They found him in the large armchair, whichserved him for a bed, enjoying a calm, nay, almost a smiling sleep. Theyboth stood in amazement at the door.
“See,” said d’Avrigny to Villefort, “nature knows how to alleviate thedeepest sorrow. No one can say that M. Noirtier did not love his child,and yet he sleeps.”
“Yes, you are right,” replied Villefort, surprised; “he sleeps, indeed!And this is the more strange, since the least contradiction keeps himawake all night.”
“Grief has stunned him,” replied d’Avrigny; and they both returnedthoughtfully to the procureur’s study.
“See, I have not slept,” said Villefort, showing his undisturbed bed;“grief does not stun me. I have not been in bed for two nights; but thenlook at my desk; see what I have written during these two days andnights. I have filled those papers, and have made out the accusationagainst the assassin Benedetto. Oh, work, work,—my passion, my joy, mydelight,—it is for thee to alleviate my sorrows!” and he convulsivelygrasped the hand of d’Avrigny.
“Do you require my services now?” asked d’Avrigny.
“No,” said Villefort; “only return again at eleven o’clock; at twelvethe—the—oh, Heavens, my poor, poor child!” and the procureur againbecoming a man, lifted up his eyes and groaned.
“Shall you be present in the reception-room?”
“No; I have a cousin who has undertaken this sad office. I shall work,doctor—when I work I forget everything.”
And, indeed, no sooner had the doctor left the room, than he was againabsorbed in work. On the doorsteps d’Avrigny met the cousin whomVillefort had mentioned, a personage as insignificant in our story as inthe world he occupied—one of those beings designed from their birth tomake themselves useful to others. He was punctual, dressed in black,with crape around his hat, and presented himself at his cousin’s with aface made up for the occasion, and which he could alter as might berequired.
At eleven o’clock the mourning-coaches rolled into the paved court, andthe Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré was filled with a crowd of idlers,equally pleased to witness the festivities or the mourning of the rich,and who rush with the same avidity to a funeral procession as to themarriage of a duchess.
Gradually the reception-room filled, and some of our old friends madetheir appearance—we mean Debray, Château-Renaud, and Beauchamp,accompanied by all the leading men of the day at the bar, in literature,or the army, for M. de Villefort moved in the first Parisian circles,less owing to his social position than to his personal merit.
The cousin standing at the door ushered in the guests, and it was rathera relief to the indifferent to see a person as unmoved as themselves,and who did not exact a mournful face or force tears, as would have beenthe case with a father, a brother, or a lover. Those who were acquaintedsoon formed into little groups. One of them was made of Debray, Château-Renaud, and Beauchamp.
“Poor girl,” said Debray, like the rest, paying an involuntary tributeto the sad event,—“poor girl, so young, so rich, so beautiful! Could youhave imagined this scene, Château-Renaud, when we saw her, at the mostthree weeks ago, about to sign that contract?”
“Indeed, no,” said Château-Renaud.”
“Did you know her?”
“I spoke to her once or twice at Madame de Morcerf’s, among the rest;she appeared to me charming, though rather melancholy. Where is herstepmother? Do you know?”
“She is spending the day with the wife of the worthy gentleman who isreceiving us.”
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“Who is he?”
“Whom do you mean?”
“The gentleman who receives us? Is he a deputy?”
“Oh, no. I am condemned to witness those gentlemen every day,” saidBeauchamp; “but he is perfectly unknown to me.”
“Have you mentioned this death in your paper?”
“It has been mentioned, but the article is not mine; indeed, I doubt ifit will please M. Villefort, for it says that if four successive deathshad happened anywhere else than in the house of the king’s attorney, hewould have interested himself somewhat more about it.”
“Still,” said Château-Renaud, “Dr. d’Avrigny, who attends my mother,declares he is in despair about it. But whom are you seeking, Debray?”
“I am seeking the Count of Monte Cristo” said the young man.
“I met him on the boulevard, on my way here,” said Beauchamp. “I thinkhe is about to leave Paris; he was going to his banker.”
“His banker? Danglars is his banker, is he not?” asked Château-Renaud ofDebray.
“I believe so,” replied the secretary with slight uneasiness. “But MonteCristo is not the only one I miss here; I do not see Morrel.”
“Morrel? Do they know him?” asked Château-Renaud. “I think he has onlybeen introduced to Madame de Villefort.”
“Still, he ought to have been here,” said Debray; “I wonder what will betalked about tonight; this funeral is the news of the day. But hush,here comes our minister of justice; he will feel obliged to make somelittle speech to the cousin,” and the three young men drew near tolisten.
Beauchamp told the truth when he said that on his way to the funeral hehad met Monte Cristo, who was directing his steps towards the Rue de laChaussée d’Antin, to M. Danglars’. The banker saw the carriage of thecount enter the courtyard, and advanced to meet him with a sad, thoughaffable smile.
“Well,” said he, extending his hand to Monte Cristo, “I suppose you havecome to sympathize with me, for indeed misfortune has taken possessionof my house. When I perceived you, I was just asking myself whether Ihad not wished harm towards those poor Morcerfs, which would havejustified the proverb of ‘He who wishes misfortunes to happen to othersexperiences them himself.’ Well, on my word of honor, I answered, ‘No!’I wished no ill to Morcerf; he was a little proud, perhaps, for a manwho like myself has risen from nothing; but we all have our faults. Doyou know, count, that persons of our time of life—not that you belong tothe class, you are still a young man,—but as I was saying, persons ofour time of life have been very unfortunate this year. For example, lookat the puritanical procureur, who has just lost his daughter, and infact nearly all his family, in so singular a manner; Morcerf dishonoredand dead; and then myself covered with ridicule through the villany ofBenedetto; besides——”
“Besides what?” asked the Count.
“Alas, do you not know?”
“What new calamity?”
“My daughter——”
“Mademoiselle Danglars?”
“Eugénie has left us!”
“Good heavens, what are you telling me?”
“The truth, my dear count. Oh, how happy you must be in not havingeither wife or children!”
“Do you think so?”
“Indeed I do.”
“And so Mademoiselle Danglars——”
“She could not endure the insult offered to us by that wretch, so sheasked permission to travel.”
“And is she gone?”
“The other night she left.”
“With Madame Danglars?”
“No, with a relation. But still, we have quite lost our dear Eugénie;for I doubt whether her pride w
ill ever allow her to return to France.”
“Still, baron,” said Monte Cristo, “family griefs, or indeed any otheraffliction which would crush a man whose child was his only treasure,are endurable to a millionaire. Philosophers may well say, and practicalmen will always support the opinion, that money mitigates many trials;and if you admit the efficacy of this sovereign balm, you ought to bevery easily consoled—you, the king of finance, the focus of immeasurablepower.”
Danglars looked at him askance, as though to ascertain whether he spokeseriously.
“Yes,” he answered, “if a fortune brings consolation, I ought to beconsoled; I am rich.”
“So rich, dear sir, that your fortune resembles the pyramids; if youwished to demolish them you could not, and if it were possible, youwould not dare!”
Danglars smiled at the good-natured pleasantry of the count. “Thatreminds me,” he said, “that when you entered I was on the point ofsigning five little bonds; I have already signed two: will you allow meto do the same to the others?”
“Pray do so.”
There was a moment’s silence, during which the noise of the banker’s penwas alone heard, while Monte Cristo examined the gilt mouldings on theceiling.
“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 theemperor, if I claim the title of king of finance, have you many piecesof paper of this size, each worth a million?”
The count took into his hands the papers, which Danglars had so proudlypresented to him, and read:—
“‘To the Governor of the Bank. Please pay to my order, from the funddeposited by me, the sum of a million, and charge the same to myaccount.
“Baron Danglars.’”
“One, two, three, four, five,” said Monte Cristo; “five millions—whywhat 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 Francethese things are done. Five millions on five little scraps of paper!—itmust be seen to be believed.”
“You do not doubt it?”
“No!”
“You say so with an accent—stay, you shall be convinced; take my clerkto the bank, and you will see him leave it with an order on the Treasuryfor the same sum.”
“No,” said Monte Cristo folding the five notes, “most decidedly not; thething is so curious, I will make the experiment myself. I am credited onyou for six millions. I have drawn nine hundred thousand francs, youtherefore still owe me five millions and a hundred thousand francs. Iwill take the five scraps of paper that I now hold as bonds, with yoursignature alone, and here is a receipt in full for the six millionsbetween us. I had prepared it beforehand, for I am much in want of moneytoday.”
And Monte Cristo placed the bonds in his pocket with one hand, whilewith the other he held out the receipt to Danglars. If a thunderbolt hadfallen at the banker’s feet, he could not have experienced greaterterror.
“What,” he stammered, “do you mean to keep that money? Excuse me, excuseme, but I owe this money to the charity fund,—a deposit which I promisedto pay this morning.”
“Oh, well, then,” said Monte Cristo, “I am not particular about thesefive notes, pay me in a different form; I wished, from curiosity, totake these, that I might be able to say that without any advice orpreparation the house of Danglars had paid me five millions without aminute’s delay; it would have been remarkable. But here are your bonds;pay me differently;” and he held the bonds towards Danglars, who seizedthem like a vulture extending its claws to withhold the food that isbeing wrested from its grasp.
Suddenly he rallied, made a violent effort to restrain himself, and thena smile gradually widened the features of his disturbed countenance.
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“Certainly,” he said, “your receipt is money.”
“Oh dear, yes; and if you were at Rome, the house of Thomson & Frenchwould make no more difficulty about paying the money on my receipt thanyou have just done.”
“Pardon me, count, pardon me.”
“Then I may keep this money?”
“Yes,” said Danglars, while the perspiration started from the roots ofhis hair. “Yes, keep it—keep it.”
Monte Cristo replaced the notes in his pocket with that indescribableexpression which seemed to say, “Come, reflect; if you repent there isstill time.”
“No,” said Danglars, “no, decidedly no; keep my signatures. But you knownone are so formal as bankers in transacting business; I intended thismoney for the charity fund, and I seemed to be robbing them if I did notpay them with these precise bonds. How absurd—as if one crown were notas good as another. Excuse me;” and he began to laugh loudly, butnervously.
“Certainly, I excuse you,” said Monte Cristo graciously, “and pocketthem.” And he placed the bonds in his pocket-book.
“But,” said Danglars, “there is still a sum of one hundred thousandfrancs?”
“Oh, a mere nothing,” said Monte Cristo. “The balance would come toabout that sum; but keep it, and we shall be quits.”
“Count,” said Danglars, “are you speaking seriously?”
“I never joke with bankers,” said Monte Cristo in a freezing manner,which repelled impertinence; and he turned to the door, just as thevalet de chambre announced:
“M. de Boville, Receiver-General of the charities.”
“Ma foi,” said Monte Cristo; “I think I arrived just in time to obtainyour signatures, or they would have been disputed with me.”
Danglars again became pale, and hastened to conduct the count out. MonteCristo exchanged a ceremonious bow with M. de Boville, who was standingin the waiting-room, and who was introduced into Danglars’ room as soonas the count had left.
The count’s serious face was illumined by a faint smile, as he noticedthe portfolio which the receiver-general held in his hand. At the doorhe found his carriage, and was immediately driven to the bank. MeanwhileDanglars, repressing all emotion, advanced to meet the receiver-general.We need not say that a smile of condescension was stamped upon his lips.
“Good-morning, creditor,” said he; “for I wager anything it is thecreditor who visits me.”
“You are right, baron,” answered M. de Boville; “the charities presentthemselves to you through me; the widows and orphans depute me toreceive alms to the amount of five millions from you.”
“And yet they say orphans are to be pitied,” said Danglars, wishing toprolong the jest. “Poor things!”
“Here I am in their name,” said M. de Boville; “but did you receive myletter yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“I have brought my receipt.”
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“My dear M. de Boville, your widows and orphans must oblige me bywaiting twenty-four hours, since M. de Monte Cristo whom you just sawleaving here—you did see him, I think?”
“Yes; well?”
“Well, M. de Monte Cristo has just carried off their five millions.”
“How so?”
“The count has an unlimited credit upon me; a credit opened by Thomson &French, of Rome; he came to demand five millions at once, which I paidhim with checks on the bank. My funds are deposited there, and you canunderstand that if I draw out ten millions on the same day it willappear rather strange to the governor. Two days will be a differentthing,” said Danglars, smiling.
“Come,” said Boville, with a tone of entire incredulity, “five millionsto that gentleman who just left, and who bowed to me as though he knewme?”
“Perhaps he knows you, though you do not know him; M. de Monte Cristoknows everybody.”
“Five millions!”
“Here is his receipt. Believe your
own eyes.” M. de Boville took thepaper Danglars presented him, and read:
“Received of Baron Danglars the sum of five million one hundred thousandfrancs, to be repaid on demand by the house of Thomson & French ofRome.”
“It is really true,” said M. de Boville.
“Do you know the house of Thomson & French?”
“Yes, I once had business to transact with it to the amount of 200,000francs; but since then I have not heard it mentioned.”
“It is one of the best houses in Europe,” said Danglars, carelesslythrowing down the receipt on his desk.
“And he had five millions in your hands alone! Why, this Count of MonteCristo must be a nabob?”
“Indeed I do not know what he is; he has three unlimited credits—one onme, one on Rothschild, one on Lafitte; and, you see,” he addedcarelessly, “he has given me the preference, by leaving a balance of100,000 francs.”
M. de Boville manifested signs of extraordinary admiration.
“I must visit him,” he said, “and obtain some pious grant from him.”
“Oh, you may make sure of him; his charities alone amount to 20,000francs a month.”
“It is magnificent! I will set before him the example of Madame deMorcerf and her son.”
“What example?”
“They gave all their fortune to the hospitals.”
“What fortune?”
“Their own—M. de Morcerf’s, who is deceased.”
“For what reason?”
“Because they would not spend money so guiltily acquired.”
“And what are they to live upon?”
“The mother retires into the country, and the son enters the army.”
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“Well, I must confess, these are scruples.”
“I registered their deed of gift yesterday.”
“And how much did they possess?”
“Oh, not much—from twelve to thirteen hundred thousand francs. But toreturn to our millions.”
“Certainly,” said Danglars, in the most natural tone in the world. “Areyou then pressed for this money?”
“Yes; for the examination of our cash takes place tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Why did you not tell me so before? Why, it is as good as acentury! At what hour does the examination take place?”
“At two o’clock.”
“Send at twelve,” said Danglars, smiling.
M. de Boville said nothing, but nodded his head, and took up theportfolio.
“Now I think of it, you can do better,” said Danglars.
“How do you mean?”
“The receipt of M. de Monte Cristo is as good as money; take it toRothschild’s or Lafitte’s, and they will take it off your hands atonce.”
“What, though payable at Rome?”
“Certainly; it will only cost you a discount of 5,000 or 6,000 francs.”
The receiver started back.
“Ma foi!” he said, “I prefer waiting till tomorrow. What a proposition!”
“I thought, perhaps,” said Danglars with supreme impertinence, “that youhad a deficiency to make up?”
“Indeed,” said the receiver.
“And if that were the case it would be worth while to make somesacrifice.”
“Thank you, no, sir.”
“Then it will be tomorrow.”
“Yes; but without fail.”
“Ah, you are laughing at me; send tomorrow at twelve, and the bank shallbe notified.”
“I will come myself.”
“Better still, since it will afford me the pleasure of seeing you.” Theyshook hands.
“By the way,” said M. de Boville, “are you not going to the funeral ofpoor Mademoiselle de Villefort, which I met on my road here?”
“No,” said the banker; “I have appeared rather ridiculous since thataffair of Benedetto, so I remain in the background.”
“Bah, you are wrong. How were you to blame in that affair?”
“Listen—when one bears an irreproachable name, as I do, one is rathersensitive.”
“Everybody pities you, sir; and, above all, Mademoiselle Danglars!”
“Poor Eugénie!” said Danglars; “do you know she is going to embrace areligious life?”
“No.”
“Alas, it is unhappily but too true. The day after the event, shedecided on leaving Paris with a nun of her acquaintance; they are goneto seek a very strict convent in Italy or Spain.”
“Oh, it is terrible!” and M. de Boville retired with this exclamation,after expressing acute sympathy with the father. But he had scarcelyleft before Danglars, with an energy of action those can aloneunderstand who have seen Robert Macaire represented by Frédérick,24exclaimed:
“Fool!”
Then enclosing Monte Cristo’s receipt in a little pocket-book, headded:—“Yes, come at twelve o’clock; I shall then be far away.”
Then he double-locked his door, emptied all his drawers, collected aboutfifty thousand francs in bank-notes, burned several papers, left othersexposed to view, and then commenced writing a letter which he addressed:
“To Madame la Baronne Danglars.”
“I will place it on her table myself tonight,” he murmured. Then takinga passport from his drawer he said,—“Good, it is available for twomonths longer.”
The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated Page 105