“You speak from the great financier’s point of view, Baron?” suggested Nello shrewdly.
Salmoros smiled his slow, appreciative smile. “I see, young man, you have got a head on your shoulders. Well now, let us come to this letter.”
Nello was only too anxious that he should.
“I am waiting for that, Baron. Of course I can only guess at the contents that he has recommended me to you.”
“That he does in the warmest terms, and for the sake of our old friendship I am prepared to comply with his request. In this letter, which is not dated—he explains that by the fact that he does not know how soon his death will take place—he states that you are hoping to establish yourself as an artist, that he has already secured you a small, but fairly remunerative, engagement at the Parthenon.”
“That is quite true, sir.”
“Then, I take it, this letter was antecedent to your considerable success at the Covent Garden Concert. In that comparatively short space of time, your remuneration has gone up by leaps and bounds?”
Nello assented for the second time. “Perfectly correct, sir.”
“Then how do we stand? Of course, if you were quite a poor man, I would find you a post at once for the sake of my old friendship with Jean Villefort. But, candidly, do you want my assistance? I am not dissatisfied with my lot, Signor Corsini, I can assure you——”
And Nello murmured, half under his breath: “I should think you were not, Baron, you a financier of European renown.”