"Your ruin? I accelerate your ruin? What do you mean? I do not
understand you."
"So much the better, I have a ray of hope left; listen."
"I am all attention," said Eugenie, looking so earnestly at her
father that it was an effort for the latter to endure her
unrelenting gaze.
"M. Cavalcanti," continued Danglars, "is about to marry you, and
will place in my hands his fortune, amounting to three million
livres."
"That is admirable!" said Eugenie with sovereign contempt,
smoothing her gloves out one upon the other.
"You think I shall deprive you of those three millions," said
Danglars; "but do not fear it. They are destined to produce at
least ten. I and a brother banker have obtained a grant of a
railway, the only industrial enterprise which in these days
promises to make good the fabulous prospects that Law once held out
to the eternally deluded Parisians, in the fantastic Mississippi
scheme. As I look at it, a millionth part of a railway is worth
fully as much as an acre of waste land on the banks of the Ohio. We
make in our case a deposit, on a mortgage, which is an advance, as
you see, since we gain at least ten, fifteen, twenty, or a hundred
livres' worth of iron in exchange for our money. Well, within a
week I am to deposit four millions for my share; the four millions,
I promise you, will produce ten or twelve."
"But during my visit to you the day before yesterday, sir, which
you appear to recollect so well," replied Eugenie, "I saw you
arranging a deposit — is not that the term? — of five millions and
a half; you even pointed it out to me in two drafts on the
treasury, and you were astonished that so valuable a paper did not
dazzle my eyes like lightning."
"Yes, but those five millions and a half are not mine, and are
only a proof of the great confidence placed in me; my title of
popular banker has gained me the confidence of charitable
institutions, and the five millions and a half belong to them; at
any other time I should not have hesitated to make use of them, butany other time I should not have hesitated to make use of them, but
the great losses I have recently sustained are well known, and, as
I told you, my credit is rather shaken. That deposit may be at any
moment withdrawn, and if I had employed it for another purpose, I
should bring on me a disgraceful bankruptcy. I do not despise
bankruptcies, believe me, but they must be those which enrich, not
those which ruin. Now, if you marry M. Cavalcanti, and I get the
three millions, or even if it is thought I am going to get them, my
credit will be restored, and my fortune, which for the last month
or two has been swallowed up in gulfs which have been opened in my
path by an inconceivable fatality, will revive. Do you understand
me?"
"Perfectly; you pledge me for three millions, do you not?"
"The greater the amount, the more flattering it is to you; it
gives you an idea of your value."
"Thank you. One word more, sir; do you promise me to make what
use you can of the report of the fortune M. Cavalcanti will bring
without touching the money? This is no act of selfishness, but of
delicacy. I am willing to help rebuild your fortune, but I will not
be an accomplice in the ruin of others."
"But since I tell you," cried Danglars, "that with these three
million" —
"Do you expect to recover your position, sir, without touching
those three million?"
"I hope so, if the marriage should take place and confirm my
credit."
"Shall you be able to pay M. Cavalcanti the five hundred
thousand francs you promise for my dowry?"
"He shall receive them on returning from the mayor's."*
(* The performance of the civil marriage.)
"Very well!"
"What next? what more do you want?"
"I wish to know if, in demanding my signature, you leave me
entirely free in my person?"
"Absolutely."
"Then, as I said before, sir, — very well; I am ready to marry
M. Cavalcanti."
"But what are you up to?"
"Ah, that is my affair. What advantage should I have over you,
if knowing your secret I were to tell you mine?" Danglars bit hisif knowing your secret I were to tell you mine?" Danglars bit his
lips. "Then," said he, "you are ready to pay the official visits,
which are absolutely indispensable?"
"Yes," replied Eugenie.
"And to sign the contract in three days?"
"Yes."
"Then, in my turn, I also say, very well!" Danglars pressed his
daughter's hand in his. But, extraordinary to relate, the father
did not say, "Thank you, my child," nor did the daughter smile at
her father. "Is the conference ended?" asked Eugenie, rising.
Danglars motioned that he had nothing more to say. Five minutes
afterwards the piano resounded to the touch of Mademoiselle
d'Armilly's fingers, and Mademoiselle Danglars was singing
Brabantio's malediction on Desdemona. At the end of the piece
Etienne entered, and announced to Eugenie that the horses were in
the carriage, and that the baroness was waiting for her to pay her
visits. We have seen them at Villefort's; they proceeded then on
their course.And now let us leave Mademoiselle Danglars and her friend
pursuing their way to Brussels, and return to poor Andrea
Cavalcanti, so inopportunely interrupted in his rise to fortune.
Notwithstanding his youth, Master Andrea was a very skilful and
intelligent boy. We have seen that on the first rumor which reached
the salon he had gradually approached the door, and crossing two or
three rooms at last disappeared. But we have forgotten to mention
one circumstance, which nevertheless ought not to be omitted; in
one of the rooms he crossed, the trousseau of the bride-elect was
on exhibition. There were caskets of diamonds, cashmere shawls,
Valenciennes lace, English veilings, and in fact all the tempting
things, the bare mention of which makes the hearts of young girls
bound with joy, and which is called the "corbeille."* Now, in
passing through this room, Andrea proved himself not only to be
clever and intelligent, but also provident, for he helped himself
to the most valuable of the ornaments before him.
(* Literally, "the basket," because wedding gifts were
originally brought in such a receptacle.)
Furnished with this plunder, Andrea leaped with a lighter heart
from the window, intending to slip through the hands of the
gendarmes. Tall and well proportioned as an ancient gladiator, and
muscular as a Spartan, he walked for a quarter of an hour without
knowing where to direct his steps, actuated by the sole idea of
getting away from the spot where if he lingered he knew that he
would surely be taken. Having passed through the Rue Mont Blanc,
guided by the instinct which leads thieves always to take the
safest path, he found himself at the end of the Rue Lafayette.
There he stopped, breathless and panting. He was quite alone; on
one side was the vast wilderness of the Saint-Lazare, on the other,
Paris enshrouded in darkness. "Am I to be captured?" he cried; "no,
not if I can use more activity than my enemies. My safety is now a
mere question of speed." At this moment he saw a cab at the top of