“I am there.”

“Write seven hundred and sixty thousand livres.”

“That is written.”

“Upon Lyons—” The cardinal appeared to hesitate.

“Upon Lyons,” repeated Bernouin.

“Three millions nine hundred thousand livres.”

“Well, monseigneur?”

“Upon Bordeaux, seven millions.”

“Seven?” repeated Bernouin.

“Yes,” said the cardinal, pettishly, “seven.” Then, recollecting himself, “You understand, Bernouin,” added he, “that all this money is to be spent?”