“Messrs. Thomson and French?” inquired the stranger.
A kind of footman rose at a sign from a confidential clerk belonging to the first desk.
“Whom shall I announce?” said the footman.
“The Baron Danglars.”
“Follow me!” said the man.
A door opened, through which the footman arid the baron disappeared. The man who had followed Danglars sat down on a bench. The clerk continued to write for the next five minutes; the man also preserved profound silence, and remained perfectly motionless. Then the pen of the clerk ceased to move over the paper; he raised his head, and appearing to be perfectly sure of a tete-a-tete: –
“Ah, ah!” he said, “here you are, Peppino!”
“Yes,” was the laconic reply.
“You have found out that there is something worth having about this large gentleman?”
“There is no great merit due to me, for we were informed of it.”
“You know his business here, then?”
“Pardieu! he has come to draw, but I don’t know how much!”
“You will know presently, my friend.”
“Very well, only do not give me false information, as you did the other day.”
“What do you mean ? – of whom do you speak? Was it the Englishman who carried off three thousand crowns from here the other day?”
No; he really had three thousand crowns, and we found them. I mean the Russian prince, who you said had thirty thousand livres, and we only found twenty-two thousand.”
“You must have searched badly.”
“Luigi Vampa himself searched.”
“In that case he must either have paid his debts –”
“A Russian do that?”
“Or spent the money?”
“Possibly, after all.”
“Certainly.”
“But you must let me make my observations, or the Frenchman will transact his business without my knowing the sum.”
Peppino nodded, and, taking a rosary from his pocket, cegan to mutter a few prayers, while the clerk disappeared through the same door by which Danglars and the footman had gone out. At the expiration of ten minutes the clerk returned, with a bright countenance.
“Well?” asked Peppino of his friend.
“Joy, joy! – the sum is large.”
“Five or six millions, is it not?”
“Yes, you know the amount.”
“On the receipt of the Count of Monte-Cristo?”
“Why, how came you to be so well acquainted with all this?”
“You know the count?”
“Who has a credit on Rome, Venice, and Vienna?”
“Just so.”
“I told you we were informed beforehand.”
“Then why do you apply to me?”
“That I may be sure I have the right man.”
“Yes, it is indeed he! Five millions – a pretty sum, eh, Peppino?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll never have as much.”
“At least,” replied Peppino, philosophically, “we shall have a share.”
“Hush! – here is our man!” The clerk seized his pen, and Peppino his beads; one was writing and the other praying when the door opened. Danglars looked radiant with joy; the banker accompanied him to the door. Peppino followed Danglars.
According to the arrangements, the carriage was waiting at the door. The guide held the door open. Guides are useful people, who will turn their hands to anything. Danglars leaped into the carriage like a young man of twenty. The cicerone reclosed the door, and sprang up by the side of the coachman. Peppino mounted the seat behind.
“Will your excellency visit Saint Peter’s?” asked the cicerone.
“What for?” replied the baron.
“Why, to see it.”
“I did not come to Rome to see,” said Danglars, aloud; then he added softly, with an avaricious smile, “I came to touch!” And he tapped his pocket-book, in which he had just placed a letter.
“Then your excellency is going –”
“To the hotel.”