CIV. La signature Danglars.

CIV

Danglars's Signature.

The following day dawned sad and overcast.

The undertakers had during the night performed their mournful office, and sewn the body laid upon the bed into the shroud which lugubriously drapes the dead, lending them—whatever may be said of equality before death—a final testimony to the luxury they loved in life.

This shroud was none other than a piece of magnificent batiste that the young girl had bought a fortnight earlier.

In the evening, men summoned for that purpose had moved Noirtier from Valentine's room into his own, and, contrary to all expectation, the old man had made no objection to leaving his child's body.

Abbé Busoni had kept watch until daybreak, and at dawn he had withdrawn to his own house, without calling anyone.

Toward eight in the morning, d'Avrigny returned; he had met Villefort passing by Noirtier's door, and had accompanied him to see how the old man had spent the night.

They found him in the great armchair that served him as a bed, resting in a gentle sleep and almost smiling.

Both stopped astonished upon the threshold.

"See," said d'Avrigny to Villefort, who was looking at his sleeping father, "see, nature knows how to calm the keenest sorrows; certainly no one will say that M. Noirtier did not love his granddaughter; and yet he sleeps."

"Yes, and you are right," answered Villefort with surprise; "he sleeps, and it is very strange, for the least annoyance keeps him awake for whole nights."

"Grief has overcome him," replied d'Avrigny.

And both pensively returned to the king's attorney's study.

"See here, I have not slept," said Villefort, showing d'Avrigny his untouched bed; "grief does not overcome me; it is two nights since I lay down; but, in exchange, see my desk; have I written, good heavens! during these two days and two nights!... have I ransacked this dossier, have I annotated this indictment of the assassin Benedetto!... Oh work, work! my passion, my joy, my rage, it is for you to overcome all my griefs!"

And he convulsively pressed d'Avrigny's hand.

"Do you need me?" asked the doctor.

"No," said Villefort; "only come back at eleven o'clock, I beg you; the... departure... takes place at noon. My God! my poor child! my poor child!"

And the king's attorney, becoming a man again, raised his eyes to heaven and sighed.

"Will you then be in the reception salon?"

"No, I have a cousin who is taking charge of that sad honor. I shall work, doctor; when I work, everything disappears."

Indeed, the doctor was scarcely out the door before the king's attorney had returned to his work.

On the steps, d'Avrigny met the relative of whom Villefort had spoken, a person insignificant in this story as in the family, one of those beings vowed from birth to play a utility role in the world.

He was punctual, dressed in black, had a crepe band on his arm, and had come to his cousin's with a face he had composed, which he intended to keep as long as need be, and to discard afterward.

At eleven o'clock, the funeral carriages rolled over the cobbles of the courtyard, and the Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré filled with the murmur of the crowd, equally greedy for the joys or the mourning of the rich, and which runs to a sumptuous burial with the same haste as to a duchess's wedding.

Little by little the mortuary salon filled, and there were seen to arrive first a part of our former acquaintances, that is to say Debray, Château-Renaud, Beauchamp, then all the luminaries of the bar, literature, and the army; for M. de Villefort occupied, less by his social position than by his personal merit, one of the foremost ranks in Parisian society.

The cousin stood at the door and admitted everyone, and it was, be it said, a great relief for the indifferent to see there an indifferent face that did not demand of the guests a lying countenance or false tears, as a father, a brother, or a fiancé would have done.

Those who knew one another signaled with a glance and gathered in groups.

One of these groups was composed of Debray, Château-Renaud, and Beauchamp.

"Poor young girl!" said Debray, paying, as everyone else moreover did in spite of themselves, a tribute to that sorrowful event; "poor young girl! so rich, so beautiful! Would you have thought that, Château-Renaud, when we came—how long ago?—three weeks or a month at most, to sign that contract which was not signed?"

"Upon my word, no," said Château-Renaud.

"Did you know her?"

"I had spoken once or twice with her at Mme de Morcerf's ball; she had seemed charming though of a somewhat melancholy spirit. Where is the stepmother? do you know?"

"She has gone to spend the day with the wife of this worthy gentleman who receives us."

"What is that?"

"Who?"

"The gentleman who receives us. A deputy?"

"No," said Beauchamp; "I am condemned to see our honorables every day, and his face is unknown to me."

"Have you spoken of this death in your paper?"

"The article is not by me, but it was mentioned; I even doubt it is agreeable to M. de Villefort. It is said, I believe, that if four successive deaths had taken place elsewhere than in the house of the king's attorney, the king's attorney would certainly have been more moved."

"Besides," said Château-Renaud, "Dr. d'Avrigny, who is my mother's physician, claims he is deeply despairing."

"But whom are you looking for, Debray?"

"I am looking for M. de Monte-Cristo," answered the young man.

"I met him on the boulevard coming here. I believe he is on his way out; he was going to his banker," said Beauchamp.

"To his banker? His banker is Danglars, is it not?" asked Château-Renaud of Debray.

"I believe so," answered the intimate secretary with slight unease; "but M. de Monte-Cristo is not the only one missing here. I do not see Morrel."

"Morrel! did he know them?" asked Château-Renaud.

"I believe he had only been presented to Mme de Villefort."

"No matter, he ought to have come," said Debray; "what will he talk about this evening? this burial is the news of the day; but hush, let us be silent, here comes the Minister of Justice and of Cults; he will think himself obliged to make his little speech to the weepy cousin."

And the three young men drew near the door to hear the little speech of the Minister of Justice and of Cults.

Beauchamp had spoken truly; on his way to the funeral invitation, he had met Monte-Cristo, who, for his part, was directing his steps toward Danglars's hôtel, in the Rue de la Chaussée-d'Antin.

The banker had, from his window, caught sight of the count's carriage entering the courtyard, and he had come to meet him with a sorrowful but affable face.

"Well, count," said he, extending his hand to Monte-Cristo, "you come to offer me your condolences. Truly, misfortune is in my house; to such a point that, when I saw you, I asked myself whether I had not wished ill upon those poor Morcerfs, which would justify the proverb: Who wishes evil, evil befalls him. Well, upon my word, no, I did not wish Morcerf any ill; he was perhaps a bit proud for a man who started from nothing, as I did, owing all to himself, as I do, but everyone has his faults. Ah, mind yourself, count, the men of our generation... But pardon, you are not of our generation, you are a young man... The men of our generation are not happy this year: witness our puritan king's attorney, witness Villefort, who has just lost his daughter again. So, recapitulate: Villefort, as we were saying, losing all his family in a strange manner; Morcerf dishonored and killed; I, covered with ridicule by the wickedness of this Benedetto, and then..."

"Then, what?" asked the count.

"Alas! do you not know, then?"

"Some new misfortune?"

"My daughter..."

"Mlle Danglars?"

"Eugénie is leaving us."

"Oh! my God! what are you telling me!"

"The truth, my dear count. My God! how happy you are to have neither wife nor child, you!"

"You think so?"

"Ah! my God!"

"And you say that Mlle Eugénie..."

"She could not bear the affront that wretched man made us suffer, and asked my permission to travel."

"And she is gone?"

"The other night."

"With Mme Danglars?"

"No, with a relative... But we lose her no less, this dear Eugénie; for I doubt that, with the character I know her to have, she will ever consent to return to France!"

"What would you have, my dear baron," said Monte-Cristo, "family sorrows, sorrows that would be crushing for a poor devil whose child was his whole fortune, but bearable for a millionaire. Philosophers may say what they will, practical men will always give them the lie on this: money consoles for many things; and you, you must be consoled more quickly than anyone, if you admit the virtue of that sovereign balm: you, the king of finance, the point of intersection of all powers."

Danglars cast an oblique glance at the count, to see whether he was jesting or speaking seriously.

"Yes," said he, "the fact is that if fortune consoles, I should be consoled: I am rich."

"So rich, my dear baron, that your fortune resembles the Pyramids; would one wish to demolish them, one would not dare; dared one, one could not."

Danglars smiled at this confiding simplicity of the count.

"That reminds me," said he, "that when you came in, I was in the middle of making five little notes; I had already signed two; will you permit me to make the other three?"

"Go ahead, my dear baron, go ahead."

There was a moment of silence, during which the banker's pen was heard scratching, while Monte-Cristo looked at the gilded moldings on the ceiling.

"Spanish notes," said Monte-Cristo, "Haitian notes, Neapolitan notes?"

"No," said Danglars, with his self-satisfied laugh; "notes to bearer, notes on the Bank of France. See here," he added, "M. le Comte, you who are the emperor of finance, as I am its king, have you seen many scraps of paper this size each worth a million?"

Monte-Cristo took in his hand, as if to weigh them, the five scraps of paper that Danglars proudly presented to him, and read:

"May it please the Regent of the Bank to pay to my order, and on the funds deposited by me, the sum of one million, value in account.

"BARON DANGLARS."

"One, two, three, four, five," said Monte-Cristo; "five millions! zounds! how you go at it, Lord Croesus!"

"That is how I do business," said Danglars.

"It is marvelous, if especially, as I do not doubt, this sum is paid in cash."

"It will be," said Danglars.

"It is fine to have such credit; truly there is only in France that one sees such things: five scraps of paper worth five millions; and one must see it to believe it."

"You doubt it?"

"No."

"You say that with an accent... Come, give yourself the pleasure: take my clerk to the bank, and you will see him come out with treasury notes for the same sum."

"No," said Monte-Cristo, folding the five notes, "upon my faith no, the thing is too curious, and I shall make the experiment myself. My credit with you was six millions, I have taken nine hundred thousand francs, so it is five million one hundred thousand francs that you still owe me. I take your five scraps of paper which I hold good at the mere sight of your signature, and here is a general receipt for six millions which settles our account. I had prepared it in advance, for I must tell you I am much in need of money today."

And with one hand Monte-Cristo put the five notes in his pocket, while with the other he held out his receipt to the banker.

Thunder falling at Danglars's feet would not have crushed him with greater terror.

"What!" he stammered, "what! M. le Comte, you take this money? But, pardon, pardon, it is money I owe the hospitals, a deposit, and I had promised to pay it this morning."

"Ah!" said Monte-Cristo, "that is different. I do not particularly care for these five notes; pay me in other securities; it was out of curiosity that I took these, in order to be able to say throughout the world that, without any advice, without asking me five minutes' delay, the house of Danglars had paid me five millions in cash! it would have been remarkable! But here are your securities; I repeat, give me others."

And he held out the five notes to Danglars, who, livid, first stretched out his hand, as the vulture stretches its claw through the bars of its cage to retain the flesh that is being taken from it.

Suddenly he thought better of it, made a violent effort and restrained himself.

Then he was seen to smile, and little by little to smooth the features of his distraught face.

"After all," said he, "your receipt, that is money."

"Oh! my God, yes! and if you were in Rome, on my receipt, the house of Thomson and French would make no more difficulty in paying you than you yourself have made."

"Pardon, M. le Comte, pardon."

"May I then keep this money?"

"Yes," said Danglars, wiping the sweat that pearled at the roots of his hair, "keep it, keep it."

Monte-Cristo put the five notes back in his pocket with that untranslatable movement of countenance which means:

"Well! reflect; if you repent, there is still time."

"No," said Danglars, "no; decidedly, keep my signatures. But, as you know, nothing is more formalistic than a man of money; I destined this money for the hospitals and I should have thought myself robbing them in not giving them precisely that, as if one crown were not worth another. Excuse me!"

And he began to laugh loudly, but with his nerves.

"I excuse you," answered Monte-Cristo graciously, "and I pocket."

And he placed the notes in his portfolio.

"But," said Danglars, "we have a sum of a hundred thousand francs?"

"Oh! a trifle," said Monte-Cristo. "The exchange should amount to about that sum; keep it, and we shall be quits."

"Count," said Danglars, "are you speaking seriously?"

"I never laugh with bankers," replied Monte-Cristo with a seriousness bordering on impertinence.

And he made his way toward the door, just at the moment when the valet announced:

"M. de Boville, receiver-general of the hospitals."

"Upon my faith," said Monte-Cristo, "it seems I arrived in time to enjoy your signatures; they are being disputed."

Danglars paled a second time, and hastened to take leave of the count.

The Count of Monte-Cristo exchanged a ceremonious bow with M. de Boville, who stood waiting in the salon, and who, once M. de Monte-Cristo had passed, was immediately shown into M. Danglars's study.

One might have seen the count's usually serious face light up with a fleeting smile at the sight of the portfolio held in the hand of the receiver of the hospitals.

At the door, he found his carriage, and had himself driven at once to the Bank.

Meanwhile Danglars, compressing all emotion, came to meet the receiver-general.

It goes without saying that the smile and the graciousness were stereotyped upon his lips.

"Good day," said he, "my dear creditor, for I would wager it is my creditor who arrives."

"You have guessed right, M. le Baron," said M. de Boville, "the hospitals present themselves to you in my person; the widows and orphans come by my hands to ask you for a charity of five millions."

"And they say the orphans are to be pitied!" said Danglars, prolonging the jest; "poor children!"

"So here I am come in their name," said M. de Boville. "You must have received my letter yesterday?"

"Yes."

"Here I am with my receipt."

"My dear M. de Boville," said Danglars, "your widows and your orphans will, if you please, have the kindness to wait twenty-four hours, seeing that M. de Monte-Cristo, whom you just saw leaving here... You saw him, did you not?"

"Yes; well?"

"Well, M. de Monte-Cristo was carrying off their five millions!"

"How so?"

"The count had an unlimited credit on me, credit opened by the house of Thomson and French, of Rome. He came to ask me for a sum of five millions at once; I gave him a note on the Bank: that is where my funds are deposited; and you understand, I should fear, in withdrawing ten millions from the hands of the Regent the same day, that it would seem very strange to him."

"In two days," added Danglars, smiling, "I do not say."

"Come now!" cried M. de Boville with the tone of the most complete incredulity; "five millions to that gentleman who was just leaving, and who saluted me as he went out as if I knew him?"

"Perhaps he knows you without your knowing him. M. de Monte-Cristo knows everyone."

"Five millions!"

"Here is his receipt. Do as Saint Thomas: see and touch."

M. de Boville took the paper Danglars presented to him, and read:

"Received from M. le Baron Danglars the sum of five million one hundred thousand francs, for which he will reimburse himself at will on the house of Thomson and French, of Rome."

"It is gospel true!" said the latter.

"Do you know the house of Thomson and French?"

"Yes," said M. de Boville, "I once did a business of two hundred thousand francs with them; but I have not heard of them since."

"It is one of the best houses in Europe," said Danglars, negligently tossing back upon his desk the receipt he had just taken from M. de Boville's hands.

"And he had like that five millions, just on you? Why, then, is this Count of Monte-Cristo a nabob?"

"Upon my faith! I do not know what he is, but he had three unlimited credits: one on me, one on Rothschild, one on Laffitte, and," added Danglars negligently, "as you see, he gave me the preference in leaving me a hundred thousand francs for the exchange."

M. de Boville gave every sign of the greatest admiration.

"I must go visit him," said he, "and obtain some pious foundation for us."

"Oh! it is as good as done; his alms alone amount to more than twenty thousand francs a month."

"That is magnificent; besides, I shall cite to him the example of Mme de Morcerf and her son."

"What example?"

"They have given their whole fortune to the hospitals."

"What fortune?"

"Their fortune, that of General de Morcerf, the deceased."

"And on what pretext?"

"On the pretext that they would not have a fortune so wretchedly acquired."

"What will they live on?"

"The mother is retiring to the provinces and the son is enlisting."

"Well, well," said Danglars, "there are some scruples for you!"

"I had the deed of gift registered yesterday."

"And what did they possess?"

"Oh! not much: twelve to thirteen hundred thousand francs. But let us return to our millions."

"Willingly," said Danglars as naturally as possible; "are you then in great need of this money?"

"But yes; the verification of our accounts takes place tomorrow."

"Tomorrow! why did you not say so at once? But that is an age, tomorrow! At what time is this verification?"

"At two o'clock."

"Send at noon," said Danglars with his smile.

M. de Boville answered little; he nodded yes and fidgeted with his portfolio.

"Why, but I think of it," said Danglars, "do better."

"What would you have me do?"

"M. de Monte-Cristo's receipt is as good as money; pass this receipt at Rothschild's or at Laffitte's; they will take it from you this instant."

"Though reimbursable in Rome?"

"Certainly; it will only cost you a discount of five or six thousand francs."

The receiver gave a start backward.

"Upon my faith! no, I prefer to wait until tomorrow. How you go on!"

"I thought for a moment, forgive me," said Danglars with supreme impudence, "I thought you had a little deficit to fill."

"Ah!" said the receiver.

"Listen, it has been known to happen, and in that case one makes a sacrifice."

"Thank God! no," said M. de Boville.

"Then, until tomorrow; but no fail?"

"Why, you are jesting! Send at noon, and the Bank shall be advised."

"I shall come myself."

"Even better, since that procures me the pleasure of seeing you."

They shook hands.

"By the way," said M. de Boville, "are you not then going to the burial of that poor Mlle de Villefort, whom I met on the boulevard?"

"No," said the banker, "I am still a bit ridiculous since the Benedetto affair, and I am lying low."

"Bah! you are wrong; is there any of your fault in all that?"

"Listen, my dear receiver, when one bears a spotless name like mine, one is sensitive."

"Everyone pities you, be assured, and, above all, everyone pities your daughter."

"Poor Eugénie!" said Danglars with a deep sigh. "You know she is entering religion, sir?"

"No."

"Alas! it is only too true, unfortunately. The day after the event, she decided to leave with a nun, a friend of hers; she is seeking a very strict convent in Italy or in Spain."

"Oh! that is terrible!"

And M. de Boville withdrew upon this exclamation, showering a thousand condolences upon the father. But no sooner was he outside than Danglars, with an energy of gesture that only those who have seen Frédérick play Robert Macaire will understand, cried:

"Imbecile!"

And, locking Monte-Cristo's receipt into a small portfolio:

"Come at noon," he added, "at noon, I shall be far away."

Then he double-locked himself in, emptied all the drawers of his cashbox, gathered some fifty thousand francs in banknotes, burned various papers, left others in sight, and began to write a letter which he sealed, and on which he put the address:

"To Madame la Baronne Danglars."

"This evening," he murmured, "I shall place it myself upon her toilette."

Then, drawing a passport from his drawer:

"Good," said he, "it is still valid for two months."

“Stories of the world, in your language.”