Turning a handle, the red-bearded young man put the machine in motion.
"Place yourself there, Corporal! Put your hands to it! You shall see what will happen!"
Fandor did as directed.
"Hold out your hands!"
Fandor-Vinson held out his hands.
A new fifty-franc note fell into them.
"What do you say to that? Is it not a good—a perfect imitation?" The red-bearded young man's tone was triumphant.
Fandor-Vinson examined it.
"That it certainly is," he acquiesced.
"Here are more!... Look!... Take them!"