“A French nobleman, sir—the Count Ernest de Montmorency,” repeated Alphonso, trying not to betray too strongly his inward exultation.
“What time are you going to meet him?”
“This evening, sir, but I wish time to dress properly.”
“Well, I don’t know that I have any objection,” said the merchant, deliberately. “Where is this count stopping?”
“I don’t know exactly, sir; but probably at the Brevoort House or the Clarendon.”
“Very well, you can go. Business is not pressing, and you can be spared. But, hark you, Mr. Jones, one word of advice.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“If this count wants to borrow money of you, don’t lend him.”
“I am sure he wouldn’t ask such a thing,” said Alphonso, shocked at the idea. “Why, he possesses a beautiful chateau and an immense estate in France!”
Here Alphonso drew upon his imagination for what he considered to be probable enough.