He opened his wallet and showed the farmer, complacently, a mass of bank-bills amounting probably to a hundred thousand francs.
"Oh," said Courtin, "only paper!"
"Paper, of course, but signed 'Garat;' that is a good signature."
"No matter," said Courtin; "I prefer gold."
"Well, gold you shall have," said the other, replacing the portfolio in his pocket and crossing his mantle over his coat.
If the pair had not been so engrossed in their conversation they would have seen that a peasant had climbed the wall between the street and the courtyard by the help of a cart which stood outside, and was listening to what they said, and gazing at the bank-notes with an air which implied that in Courtin's place he would have been quite satisfied with Garat's signature.
"Very good; then the day after to-morrow at Saint-Philbert," repeated the man in the cloak.
"Day after to-morrow."
"What time?"
"Evening, of course."