Chapter 127: The Banker’s Visit: II
The Count turned as Danglars entered. With a slight nod, Danglars gestured to an ornate golden chair upholstered in white satin embroidered with gold. The Count sat down.
"I have the honor of addressing Mr. Monte Cristo?"
The Count bowed. "And I’m speaking to Baron Danglars, decorated war hero and government official?"
Monte Cristo repeated all the titles from Danglars’ business card with subtle emphasis.
Danglars caught the irony and his lips compressed. "You’ll forgive me for not using your title at first," he said. "But you understand we live in a democratic country, and I represent the common people."
"I see," Monte Cristo replied. "So you call yourself Baron, but you won’t call anyone else Count."
"Honestly, sir," Danglars said with fake casualness, "I don’t care about such empty titles. I was made a baron for my service, but-"
"But you’ve given up your titles like other noble families did during political reforms? That’s admirable."
"Well," Danglars backtracked, "not entirely. With the servants, you understand..."
"Ah, I see. Your household staff calls you ’my lord,’ journalists call you ’sir,’ and your constituents call you ’citizen.’ Very appropriate for a democracy. I understand perfectly."
Danglars bit his lip again. He was clearly outmatched in this verbal sparring and quickly changed subjects.
"Let me inform you, Count," he said, bowing, "that I received a letter from your Italian bankers."
"Excellent! That saves me the trouble of coming to you for money myself. You received the official letter?"
"Yes, but I confess I don’t quite understand it."
"Oh?"
"That’s why I called on you, to request clarification."
"Go ahead. I’m here to explain anything you’d like."
Danglars pulled a letter from his pocket. "This letter gives you unlimited credit with my bank."
"Yes. What’s difficult to understand about that?"
"Just the word ’unlimited.’ That’s all."
"Is that word not used in France? The writers are from England and Germany, you know."
"The letter is fine. I just question the validity of the arrangement."
"Are you saying," the Count asked with perfect innocence, "that your Italian banking partners aren’t trustworthy? Please tell me, because I have considerable assets with them."
"They’re perfectly solvent," Danglars replied with an almost mocking smile. "But the word ’unlimited’ in financial matters is extremely vague."
"It means exactly what it says, unlimited," Monte Cristo stated.
"Precisely my point!" Danglars exclaimed. "Vague means doubtful, and as the saying goes, ’when in doubt, stay out.’"
"So you’re saying that while your Italian partners might commit foolish acts, Baron Danglars won’t follow their example?"
"Not at all!"
"So the Italians set no bounds to their commitments, while Mr. Danglars’ commitments have limits. How wise of you."
"Sir," Danglars replied, drawing himself up haughtily, "the extent of my resources has never been questioned."
"Then I’ll be the first to do so," Monte Cristo said coldly.
"By what right?"
"By right of the objections you’ve raised and the explanations you’ve demanded."
Danglars bit his lip for the second time. He was losing badly, and on his own turf. His forced politeness was becoming almost rude. Monte Cristo, meanwhile, maintained perfect gracious composure.
"Fine," Danglars said after a brief silence. "How much do you plan to withdraw from my bank?"
"That’s precisely why I needed unlimited credit," Monte Cristo replied, determined not to give an inch. "I don’t know how much I’ll need."
Danglars thought he finally had the upper hand. Throwing himself back in his chair with arrogant confidence, he said, "Feel free to name any amount. You’ll find that my bank’s resources, while not infinite, can handle the largest demands. Even if you needed a million-"
"Excuse me," Monte Cristo interrupted.
"I said a million," Danglars repeated confidently.
"What would I do with a million?" the Count replied. "If such a trivial amount would suffice, I wouldn’t have bothered opening an account. A million? Forgive me for smiling, but that’s the kind of pocket change I carry in my wallet or travel case."
With these words, Monte Cristo pulled out a small card case and withdrew two treasury certificates, each for 500,000 francs, payable immediately to whoever held them.
For a man like Danglars, only shock therapy would work. The effect was devastating. He trembled, on the verge of a stroke. His pupils dilated horribly as he stared at Monte Cristo.
"Come now," Monte Cristo said, "admit honestly that you don’t fully trust the Italian bankers. I understand, and foreseeing this possibility, I took precautions despite my ignorance of business affairs. Here are two more letters like the one you received, one from a Viennese bank to the Rothschilds, another from a London bank. Just say the word, and I’ll spare you all concern by presenting my credentials to one of them instead."
The blow struck home. Danglars was utterly defeated. With trembling hands, he took the two letters the Count held casually between his fingers. He scrutinized the signatures with minute attention that might have been insulting if it hadn’t suited the Count’s purpose to mislead him.
"Oh, sir," Danglars said after confirming the documents were authentic, rising as if saluting the personification of wealth itself, "three letters of unlimited credit! I can no longer be suspicious. But you must forgive my astonishment."
"Not at all," Monte Cristo replied with gentlemanly ease. "These trifling sums shouldn’t inconvenience your banking house. So, can you provide me with some money?"
"Whatever you say, Count. I’m at your service."
"Good. Since we understand each other now, we do, don’t we?" Danglars nodded. "And you’re absolutely certain no lingering doubts remain?"
"Oh, Count, I never for an instant doubted you!"
"You just wanted proof. But now that we’ve cleared everything up, let’s establish the probable budget for the first year. Shall we say six million?"
"Six million!" Danglars gasped. "Very well."
"If I need more," Monte Cristo continued casually, "I’ll simply withdraw it. But I don’t plan to stay in France more than a year, so I doubt I’ll exceed that amount. Send me 500,000 francs tomorrow. I’ll be home until noon, or if I’m out, I’ll leave instructions with my steward."
"The money will be at your house by ten tomorrow morning, Count," Danglars replied. "How would you like it? Gold, silver, or bank notes?"
"Half in gold, half in notes, please," the Count said, rising.
"I must confess," Danglars admitted, "I thought I knew all the great fortunes in Europe, but wealth like yours is completely unknown to me. May I ask how long you’ve possessed it?"
"It’s been in my family for a very long time," Monte Cristo replied. "An inherited fortune that couldn’t be touched for many years while the interest accumulated and doubled the capital. The waiting period only ended recently, and I’ve only been able to use it these last few years. That’s why you haven’t heard of it. But you’ll learn more about me and my wealth soon enough."
As he spoke these last words, one of those ghastly smiles crossed his face, the kind that used to terrify anyone who saw it.
"With your tastes and resources," Danglars continued, "you’ll live so magnificently that you’ll put us poor millionaires to shame. I noticed you’re an art admirer, I saw you studying my paintings when I entered. If you’d like, I’d be happy to show you my gallery. It’s composed entirely of works by ancient masters, guaranteed authentic. Not a single modern painting. I can’t stand contemporary art."
"You’re quite right to object to them. They haven’t had time to become old yet."
"Or perhaps you’d like to see my sculpture collection? Works by famous European artists. I don’t think much of French sculptors, I’m afraid."
"You have every right to be biased against your own countrymen."
"But all this can wait until we know each other better. For now, if it’s agreeable to you, let me introduce you to Baroness Danglars. Forgive my eagerness, but a client like you is practically family!"
Monte Cristo bowed his acceptance. Danglars rang for a servant in flashy livery. "Is the Baroness home?"
"Yes, sir," the servant answered.
"Is she alone?"
"No, sir. She has visitors."
"Do you mind meeting whoever’s with her, or would you prefer to remain anonymous?" Danglars asked.
"Not at all," Monte Cristo replied with a smile. "I don’t claim such privileges."
"Who’s with her? Mr. Debray?" Danglars asked with an indulgent, knowing air that made Monte Cristo smile, he was well aware of the banker’s domestic secrets.
"Yes, sir. Mr. Debray is with her."
Danglars nodded, then turned to Monte Cristo. "Mr. Lucien Debray is an old family friend and private secretary to the Minister of the Interior. As for my wife, I should mention she married beneath herself, she comes from one of France’s oldest noble families. Her maiden name was De Servières, and her first husband was a marquis and colonel."
"I haven’t had the honor of meeting Madame Danglars, but I’ve already met Mr. Debray."
"Really? Where?"
"At Mr. de Morcerf’s house."
"Ah, you know the young viscount?"
"We spent quite a bit of time together during Carnival in Rome."
"Of course!" Danglars exclaimed. "Didn’t he have some wild adventure with bandits hiding in ruins? Some miraculous escape? I forget the details, but he used to entertain my wife and daughter with the story after he returned from Italy."
"Her ladyship is ready to receive you, gentlemen," the servant announced.
"With your permission," Danglars said, bowing, "I’ll lead the way."
"By all means," Monte Cristo replied. "I’ll follow you."