“I shall not sell it — do not fear.”
“Not at least till the day after to-morrow,” thought the young man.
“Happy rogue,” said Caderousse; “you are going to find your servants, your horses, your carriage, and your betrothed!”
“Yes,” said Andrea.
“Well, I hope you will make a handsome wedding-present the day you marry Mademoiselle Danglars.”
“I have already told you it is a fancy you have taken in your head.”
“What fortune has she?”
“But I tell you” —
“A million?” Andrea shrugged his shoulders.
“Let it be a million,” said Caderousse; “you can never have so much as I wish you.”
“Thank you,” said the young man.
“Oh, I wish it you with all my heart!” added Caderousse with his hoarse laugh. “Stop, let me show you the way.”
“It is not worth while.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Why?”
“Because there is a little secret, a precaution I thought it desirable to take, one of Huret & Fitchet’s locks, revised and improved by Gaspard Caderousse; I will manufacture you a similar one when you are a capitalist.”
“Thank you,” said Andrea; “I will let you know a week beforehand.” They parted. Caderousse remained on the landing until he had not only seen Andrea go down the three stories, but also cross the court. Then he returned hastily, shut his door carefully, and began to study, like a clever architect, the plan Andrea had left him.
“Dear Benedetto,” said he, “I think he will not be sorry to inherit his fortune, and he who hastens the day when he can touch his five hundred thousand will not be his worst friend.”