banker, I send him a draft for 2,000 francs to defray his travelling expenses, and credit on you for the further sum of 48,000 francs, which you still owe me.’ ”
The major awaited the conclusion of the postscript, apparently with great anxiety.
“Very good,” said the count.
“He said ‘very good,’ ” muttered the major, “then—sir—” replied he.
“Then what?” asked Monte Cristo.
“Then the postscript—”
“Well; what of the postscript?”
“Then the postscript is as favorably received by you as the rest of the letter?”
“Certainly; the Abbé Busoni and myself have a small account open between us. I do not remember if it is exactly 48,000 francs, which I am still owing him, but I dare say we shall not dispute the difference. You attached great importance, then, to this postscript, my dear Monsieur Cavalcanti?”
“I must explain to you,” said the major, “that, fully confiding in the signature of the Abbé Busoni, I had not provided myself with any other funds; so that if this resource had failed me, I should have found myself very unpleasantly situated in Paris.”
“Is it possible that a man of your standing should be embarrassed anywhere?”