“Two hundred thousand francs.”
“My dear friend,” said the Count, addressing the Minister, “you shall have the two hundred thousand francs within forty-eight hours. It shall never be said that a man bearing the name of Hulot has wronged the public treasury of a single sou.”
“What nonsense!” said the Prince. “I know where the money is, and I can get it back.—Send in your resignation and ask for your pension!” he went on, sending a double sheet of foolscap flying across to where the Councillor of State had sat down by the table, for his legs gave way under him. “To bring you to trial would disgrace us all. I have already obtained from the superior Board their sanction to this line of action. Since you can accept life with dishonor—in my opinion the last degradation—you will get the pension you have earned. Only take care to be forgotten.”
The Minister rang.
“Is Marneffe, the head-clerk, out there?”
“Yes, monseigneur.”
“Show him in!”
“You,” said the Minister as Marneffe came in, “you and your wife have wittingly and intentionally ruined the Baron d’Ervy whom you see.”
“Monsieur le Ministre, I beg your pardon. We are very poor. I have nothing to live on but my pay, and I have two children, and the one that is coming will have been brought into the family by Monsieur le Baron.”
“What a villain he looks!” said the Prince, pointing to Marneffe and addressing Marshal Hulot.—“No more of Sganarelle speeches,” he went on; “you will disgorge two hundred thousand francs, or be packed off to Algiers.”