smiling.
M. de Boville said nothing, but nodded his head, and took up the portfolio.
“Now I think of it, you can do better,” said Danglars.
“How do you mean?”
“The receipt of M. de Monte Cristo is as good as money; take it to Rothschild’s or Lafitte’s, and they will take it off your hands at once.”
“What, though payable at Rome?”
“Certainly; it will only cost you a discount of 5,000 or 6,000 francs.”
The receiver started back.
“Ma foi!” he said, “I prefer waiting till tomorrow. What a proposition!”
“I thought, perhaps,” said Danglars with supreme impertinence, “that you had a deficiency to make up?”
“Indeed,” said