"Enfin, of what use is that to me?"
"Well," replied the banker, with a shrug, "I know very well that it would not trouble you much if the whole world knew of you what I know, if only I did not know it. You naturally come to me, intending to describe to me the symptoms of a disease entirely different to that from which you are actually suffering; but I am a practical doctor, who can read the symptoms of my patients from their faces. Suppose, now, I were able to cure you?"
The bitter jest pleased Abellino. "Hum! feel my pulse then," he said jestingly, "but put your hand, not on my pulse, but in my pocket."
"There is no necessity for that. Let us consider the symptoms. Are you not suffering a slight indigestion in consequence of an undigested debt of some three hundred thousand francs or so?"
"You know I do. Give my creditors something to go away with."
"But that would be hard on the poor fellows.
You would not choke off your upholsterers, your coach-makers, and your horse-dealers because you can't pay them, I suppose? Would it not be juster to pay them up in full?"
"How can I?" cried Abellino, furiously. "If only, like Don Juan de Castro, I could raise money on half of my moustache by sending it to Toledo! But I can't even do that, for I have cut it off."
"And what will you do if they keep on dunning you?"
"Blow my brains out; that's soon done."