"But yesterday, monsieur, did I not see you cash – that is the correct word, no? – cash five million mushroom-lions?"
"Yes," admitted the banker. "But those five millions are not mine and are merely a sign of confidence in me; the five million in question belong to the hospitals, those crows of Saroumand that batten off the labours of the productive members of society. Given the notorious losses I have sustained, I risk a shameful bankruptcy if I use those funds. Now, if you wed M. Pseudonimo, my credit will be reaffirmed, and my fortune, which for the last month or two is a little engulfed in the abysm of Ckasade-doûm, acquires the wings wherewith to fly out of that chasm. Do you understand me?"
"Perfectly. You gamble me for three million mushroom-lions, n'est-ce pas?"
"The larger the sum, the more flattering."
"Merci. One last word, monsieur: do you promise, in using the amount as you will for purposes of credit, not to touch the sum? It is not a matter of egoism, but of délicatesse: I wish indeed to rebuild your fortune, but not at the expense of others."
"I hope so, always provided the marriage consolidate my credit."
"And in demanding my signature, you leave me free with respect to my person?"
"Absolutely."
