“No, for I am only embarked in certainties,” replied Danglars, with the air of a mountebank sounding his own praises; “to involve me, three governments must crumble to dust.”
“Well, such things have been.”
“That there should be a famine!”
“Recollect the seven fat and the seven lean kine.”
“Or, that the sea should become dry, as in the days of Pharaoh, and even then my vessels would become caravans.”
“So much the better. I congratulate you, my dear M. Danglars,” said Monte Cristo; “I see I was deceived, and that you belong to the class of second-rate fortunes.”
“I think I may aspire to that honor,” said Danglars with a smile, which reminded Monte Cristo of the sickly moons which bad artists are so fond of daubing into their pictures of ruins. “But, while we are speaking of business,” Danglars added, pleased to find an opportunity of changing the subject, “tell me what I am to do for M. Cavalcanti.”
“Give him money, if he is recommended to you, and the recommendation seems good.”
“Excellent; he presented himself this morning with a bond of 40,000 francs, payable at sight, on you, signed by Busoni, and returned by you to me, with your indorsement — of course, I immediately counted him over the forty bank-notes.”
Monte Cristo nodded his head in token of assent. “But that is not all,” continued Danglars; “he has opened an account with my house for his son.”
“May I ask how much he allows the young man?”
“Five thousand francs per month.”
“Sixty thousand francs per year. I thought I was right in believing that Cavalcanti to be a stingy fellow. How can a young man live upon 5,000 francs a month?”
“But you understand that if the young man should want a few thousands more” —
“Do not advance it; the father will never repay it. You do not know these ultramontane millionaires; they are regular misers. And by whom were they recommended to you?”
“Oh, by the house of Fenzi, one of the best in Florence.”
“I do not mean to say you will lose, but, nevertheless, mind you hold to the terms of the agreement.”
“Would you not trust the Cavalcanti?”
“I? oh, I would advance six millions on his signature. I was only speaking in reference to the second-rate fortunes we were mentioning just now.”
“And with all this, how unassuming he is! I should never have taken him for anything more than a mere major.”
“And you would have flattered him, for certainly, as you say, he has no manner. The first time I saw him he appeared to me like an old lieutenant who had grown mouldy under his epaulets. But all the Italians are the same; they are like old Jews when they are not glittering in Oriental splendor.”
“The young man is better,” said Danglars.
“Yes; a little nervous, perhaps, but, upon the whole, he appeared tolerable. I was uneasy about him.”
“Why?”
“Because you met him at my house, just after his introduction into the world, as they told me. He has been travelling with a very severe tutor, and had never been to Paris before.”
“Ah, I believe noblemen marry amongst themselves, do they not?” asked Danglars carelessly; they like to unite their fortunes.”
“It is usual, certainly; but Cavalcanti is an original who does nothing like other people. I cannot help thinking that he has brought his son to France to choose a wife.”
“Do you think so?”
“I am sure of it.”
“And you have heard his fortune mentioned?”
“Nothing else was talked of; only some said he was worth millions, and others that he did not possess a farthing.”
“And what is your opinion?”
“I ought not to influence you, because it is only my own personal impression.”
“Well, and it is that” —
“My opinion is, that all these old podestas, these ancient condottieri, — for the Cavalcanti have commanded armies and governed provinces, — my opinion, I say, is, that they have buried their millions in corners, the secret of which they have transmitted only to their eldest sons, who have done the same from generation to generation; and the proof of this is seen in their yellow and dry appearance, like the florins of the republic, which, from being constantly gazed upon, have become reflected in them.”