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Updated: May 15, 2025
A model host, indeed! At last Abellino arrived. It was not in his power to be punctual. An elderly foreign gentleman was leaning on his arm, and he led him straight up to the host, and introduced him. "Friend Kecskerey Monsieur Griffard, the banker." Fresh bowings and scrapings and shaking of hands.
Monsieur Griffard, learning that Squire John was at the last gasp, had sent Abellino not one, but two hundred thousand florins, for which, of course, he was naturally expected to pay back as much again at the proper time.
Griffard refuses to lend me another sou, and I am obliged to learn the science of economy like any other Philistine." "Ah, that's a pity for you, for you cannot find it very amusing. You would do more wisely if you made it up with your uncle." "I would rather be a bandit than a beggar." "Take care you don't fall into a snare." "What snare can you possibly imagine?"
So poor Monsieur Griffard, frantic with rage, hastened off to a cutler's shop, bought a large knife with seven of his sous, and had it well sharpened with the remaining two; but in the mean time up came a mob of ragged citizens with Phrygian caps on, bawling at the top of their voices, "Down with the aristocrats!" and carrying on a pole by way of a banner the last number of Marat's newspaper, whereupon it occurred to Monsieur Griffard that he might make a better use of his well-sharpened knife than applying it to his own throat, so he mingled with the crowd, and cried, "Down with the aristocrats!" as loudly as anybody.
For army commissaries are of two classes, those whose business makes them beggars and those who become millionaires; the former generally shoot themselves, while the latter are shot by others. But the last case is much the rarer. Fortunately for himself, Monsieur Griffard belonged to the class who are not shot, but become millionaires.
"You require three hundred thousand francs," continued Monsieur Griffard, in a gentle, soothing voice, "and I suppose you will not be alarmed at the idea of paying me back six hundred thousand instead of that amount when you come into your property?" "Fi donc!" said Kárpáthy, contemptuously.
Abellino bowed stiffly, biting his lips hard all the time; he was as white as the wall. Then Squire John passed on and had himself specially introduced to Monsieur Griffard, who expressed his intense gratification at finding the Nabob in the possession of such excellent health.
The Mississippi mania whirled him along with it also. In those days every man in Paris meant to be a millionaire. In the streets, alleys, and public squares every one was either buying or selling Mississippi shares. Monsieur Griffard left his pastry-shop in the charge of his eldest assistant while he himself went in search of millions, and, what is more, found them.
But one day, like a beautiful soap-bubble, the whole Mississippi joke collapsed, and Monsieur Griffard found himself out in the cold with but nine sous in his pocket. Now, when a man who has not been a millionaire finds he has only nine sous in his purse, there's no reason why he should be particularly angry.
He managed to acquire some of the neat little estates which the emigré magnates had left to the care of the State, and when they came home again in the days of the Restoration, Monsieur Griffard was one of the lucky men who watched the gorgeous pageant of the march of the allied armies through Paris from his own balcony.
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