"Your kind proposal is badly timed," replied Olivier. "I am not only without funds just now, but I am trying to obtain a thousand francs, to pay a cursed bill of exchange that I signed, and which falls due this very day."
"Is that all?" said Chauvignac, taking a banknote for the amount out of his pocket-book—"Here it is; but mind, you must return it to me to-morrow."
"You are deranged."
"Perhaps I am, but in my insanity, I am mad enough to offer you another thousand francs, to enable you to go and secure thirty thousand which are awaiting you."
"Pray explain yourself, or else you will turn my brain also!"
"Listen: if ever there was a desperate gambler, it is the Count de Vandermool, a rich Belgian capitalist, and who can well afford to lose a hundred thousand francs (4000l.). He is just now in Boulogne, and intends remaining there a week. We must bleed this millionnaire; nothing will be more easy, as a friend and colleague of mine from Paris, named Chaffard, is already acquainted with him, so all we have to do is to set to work at once.
"You are now one of us. That is well understood, is it not? In a short time you will be able to satisfy your creditors, and to give your mistress a Cashmere shawl."
"But you go too quick," said Olivier in a wavering tone. "Wait a bit, I have not yet said yes."
"I don't ask you to say 'yes' now, you shall say it at Boulogne—make haste, and go and pay your bill; we shall leave this in two hours. The post-horses are ordered, we shall start from my house—be punctual."
The same evening the two philosophers arrive at Boulogne. They alight at the Hôtel de L'Univers, which has been selected for them by their accomplice—by whom they are shortly welcomed.