“Quite so!” said the president.
“Because, look you here. Monsieur de Bon-Bon-Bonfons, you must l-l-look before you l-l-l-leap. And you can’t d-do more than you can. A big af-f-fair like this wants l-l-l-looking into, or you may ru-ru-ruin yourself. That is so, isn’t it? eh?”
“Certainly,” said the president. “I myself am of the opinion that in a few months’ time you could buy up the debts for a fixed sum and pay by instalments. Aha! you can trail a dog a long way with a bit of bacon. When a man has not been declared bankrupt, as soon as the bills are in your hands, you will be as white as snow.”
“As s-s-s-snow?” said Grandet, holding his hand to his ear. “S-s-s-snow? I don’t underst-t-tand.”
“Why, then, just listen to me!” cried the president.
“I am l-l-listening—”
“A bill of exchange is a commodity subject to fluctuations in value. This is a deduction from Jeremy Bentham’s theory of interest. He was a publicist who showed conclusively that the prejudices entertained against moneylenders were irrational.”
“Bless me!” put in Grandet.
“And seeing that, according to Bentham, money itself is a commodity, and that that which money represents is no less a commodity,” the president went on; “and since it is obvious that the commodity called a bill of exchange is subject to the same laws of supply and demand that control production of all kinds, a bill of exchange bearing this or that signature, like this or that article of commerce, is scarce or plentiful in the market, commands a high premium or is worth nothing at all. Wherefore the decision of this Court—There! how stupid I am, I beg your pardon; I mean I am of the opinion that you could easily buy up your brother’s debts for twenty-five percent of their value.”
“You m-m-m-mentioned Je-je-je-jeremy Ben—”
“Bentham, an Englishman.”
“That is a Jeremiah who will save us many lamentations in business matters,” said the notary, laughing.
“The English s-s-sometimes have s-s-s-sensible notions,” said Grandet. “Then, according to B-Bentham, how if my b-b-brother’s b-bills are worth n-n-n-nothing? If I am right, it looks to me as if … the creditors would … n-no, they wouldn’t … I underst-t-tand.”
“Let me explain all this to you,” said the president. “In law, if you hold all the outstanding bills of the firm of Grandet, your brother, his heirs and assigns, would owe no one a penny. So far, so good.”
“Good,” echoed Grandet.
“And in equity; suppose that your brother’s bills were negotiated upon the market (negotiated, do you understand the meaning of that term?) at a loss of so much percent; and suppose one of your friends happened to be passing, and bought up the bills; there would have been no physical force brought to bear upon the creditors, they gave them up of their own free will, and the estate of the late Grandet of Paris would be clear in the eye of the law.”
“True,” stuttered the cooper, “b-b-business is business. So that is s-s-s-settled. But, for all that, you underst-tand that it is a d-d-difficult matter. I have not the m-m-money, nor have I the t-t-t-time, nor—”
“Yes, yes; you cannot be at the trouble. Well, now, I will go to Paris for you if you like (you must stand the expenses of the journey, that is a mere trifle). I will see the creditors, and talk to them, and put them off; it can all be arranged; you will be prepared to add something to the amount realized by the liquidation so as to get the bills into your hands.”
“We shall s-see about that; I cannot and will not undert-t-take anything unless I know … You can’t d-d-do more than you can, you know.”
“Quite so, quite so.”
“And I am quite bewildered with all these head-splitting ideas that you have sp-prung upon me. Th-this is the f-f-f-first t-time in my l-l-life that I have had to th-th-think about such th—”
“Yes, yes, you are not a consulting barrister.”
“I am a p-p-poor vinegrower, and I know n-n-nothing about what you have just t-t-t-told me; I m-m-must th-think it all out.”
“Well! then,” began the president, as if he meant to reopen the discussion.
“Nephew!” interrupted the notary reproachfully.
“Well, uncle?” answered the president.
“Let M. Grandet explain what he means to do. It is a very important question, and you are to receive his instructions. Our dear friend might now very pertinently state—”
A knock at the door announced the arrival of the des Grassins; their coming and exchange of greetings prevented Cruchot senior from finishing his sentence. Nor was he ill-pleased with this diversion; Grandet was looking askance at him already, and there was that about the wen on the cooper’s face which indicated that a storm was brewing within. And on sober reflection it seemed to the cautious notary that a president of a court of first instance was not exactly the person to dispatch to Paris, there to open negotiations with creditors, and to lend himself to a more than dubious transaction which, however you looked at it, hardly squared with notions of strict honesty; and not only so, but he had particularly noticed that Goodman Grandet had shown not the slightest inclination to disburse anything whatever, and he trembled instinctively at the thought of his nephew becoming involved in such a business. He took advantage of the entrance of the des Grassins, took his nephew by the arm, and drew him into the embrasure of the window.
“You have gone quite as far as there is any need,” he said, “that is quite enough of such zeal; you are overreaching yourself in your eagerness to marry the girl. The devil! You should not rush into a thing open-mouthed, like a crow at a walnut. Leave the steering of
