“Here, excellency,” said Peppino, offering him a little blunt knife and a boxwood fork. Danglars took the knife in one hand and the fork in the other, and was about to cut up the fowl.
“Pardon me, excellency,” said Peppino, placing his hand on the banker’s shoulder; “people pay here before they eat. They might not be satisfied, and——”
“Ah, ha,” thought Danglars, “this is not so much like Paris, except that I shall probably be skinned! Never mind, I’ll fix that all right. I have always heard how cheap poultry is in Italy; I should think a fowl is worth about twelve sous at Rome.—There,” he said, throwing a louis down.
Peppino picked up the louis, and Danglars again prepared to carve the fowl.
“Stay a moment, your excellency,” said Peppino, rising; “you still owe me something.”
“I said they would skin me,” thought Danglars; but resolving to resist the extortion, he said, “Come, how much do I owe you for this fowl?”
“Your excellency has given me a louis on account.”
“A louis on account for a fowl?”
“Certainly; and your excellency now owes me 4,999 louis.”
Danglars opened his enormous eyes on hearing this gigantic joke.
“Very droll,” he muttered, “very droll indeed,” and he again began to carve the fowl, when Peppino stopped the baron’s right hand with his left, and held out his other hand.
“Come, now,” he said.
“Is it not a joke?” said Danglars.
“We never joke,” replied Peppino, solemn as a Quaker.
“What! A hundred thousand francs for a fowl!”
“Ah, excellency, you cannot imagine how hard it is to rear fowls in these horrible caves!”
“Come, come, this is very droll—very amusing—I allow; but, as I am very hungry, pray allow me to eat. Stay, here is another louis for you.”
“Then that will make only 4,998 louis more,” said Peppino with the same indifference. “I shall get them all in time.”
“Oh, as for that,” said Danglars, angry at this prolongation of the jest,—“as for that you won’t get them at all. Go to the devil! You do not know with whom you have to deal!”
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Peppino made a sign, and the youth hastily removed the fowl. Danglars threw himself upon his goat-skin, and Peppino, reclosing the door, again began eating his peas and bacon. Though Danglars could not see Peppino, the noise of his teeth allowed no doubt as to his occupation. He was certainly eating, and noisily too, like an ill-bred man. “Brute!” said Danglars. Peppino pretended not to hear him, and without even turning his head continued to eat slowly. Danglars’ stomach felt so empty, that it seemed as if it would be impossible ever to fill it again; still he had patience for another half-hour, which appeared to him like a century. He again arose and went to the door.
“Come, sir, do not keep me starving here any longer, but tell me what they want.”
“Nay, your excellency, it is you who should tell us what you want. Give your orders, and we will execute them.”
“Then open the door directly.” Peppino obeyed. “Now look here, I want something to eat! To eat—do you hear?”
“Are you hungry?”
“Come, you understand me.”
“What would your excellency like to eat?”
“A piece of dry bread, since the fowls are beyond all price in this accursed place.”
“Bread? Very well. Holloa, there, some bread!” he called. The youth brought a small loaf. “How much?” asked Danglars.
“Four thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight louis,” said Peppino; “You have paid two louis in advance.”
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“What? One hundred thousand francs for a loaf?”
“One hundred thousand francs,” repeated Peppino.
“But you only asked 100,000 francs for a fowl!”
“We have a fixed price for all our provisions. It signifies nothing whether you eat much or little—whether you have ten dishes or one—it is always the same price.”
“What, still keeping up this silly jest? My dear fellow, it is perfectly ridiculous—stupid! You had better tell me at once that you intend starving me to death.”
“Oh, dear, no, your excellency, unless you intend to commit suicide. Pay and eat.”
“And what am I to pay with, brute?” said Danglars, enraged. “Do you suppose I carry 100,000 francs in my pocket?”
“Your excellency has 5,050,000 francs in your pocket; that will be fifty fowls at 100,000 francs apiece, and half a fowl for the 50,000.”
Danglars shuddered. The bandage fell from his eyes, and he understood the joke, which he did not think quite so stupid as he had done just before.
