The banker believed that victory was within his grasp. He blew a flaccid and extremely inelegant smoke-ring, smiled like a troll consuming a burrito, and said, "Oh, monsieur, fear not to desire, for the maison Sacqueville-Danglars, limited though it be, disposes of the largest resources this side of the Mountains of Cologne, should you require a million floquerins."
"A million?" said the Count. "And what on earth would I do with that? Bon Érou! If I wanted a million, I would not open a credit for such a misère. I regularly annihilate a million floquerins a day in order to save space." And Monte-Fato removed from a pendant a small ring and put it on with a charming smile that made the baron's blood run cold; he had the unnerving sense that a hostile will pinned him under its deadly gaze, naked and immovable.
"Surety you crave?" continued Monte Fato. "You seem to distrust the house of Bombadil and Forn, or perhaps simply do not find their music pleasing to your ears. Mon Érou! I foresaw the case, and although entirely unversed in affairs, I've taken precautions. Voici donc parallel letters of credit from Glamhothschild, Thorinowitz, d'Alqualonde, and the balrogue of Morie. Regrettably, I left the letter from Manvre at home; it needed cleaning from the effects of the eagles."
