on of
this development a network of railways over the island, with a service
of packet-boats in addition. Such is the gigantic undertaking to which
he has devoted himself. He has sunk considerable capital in it, and it
is the new-comer, the workman of the last hour, who will gain the whole
profit.

While with his Italian accent and violent gestures the Corsican
enumerates the "splendours" of the affair, Monpavon, haughty, and with
an air calculated to command confidence, nods his head approvingly with
conviction, and from time to time, when he judges the moment propitious,
throws into the conversation the name of the Duc de Mora, which never
fails in its effect on the Nabob.

"Well, in short, how much would be required?"

"Millions," says Monpavon boldly, in the tone of a man who would have
no difficulty in addressing himself elsewhere. "Yes, millions; but the
enterprise is magnificent. And, as his excellency was saying, it would
provide even a political position. Just think! In that district without
a metallic currency, you might become counsellor-general, deputy." The
Nabob gives a start. And the little Paganetti, who feels the bait quiver
on his hook: "Yes, deputy. You will be that whenever I choose. At a sign
from me all Corsica is at your disposal." Then he launches out into an
astonishing improvisation, counting the votes which he controls, the
cantons which will obey his call. "You bring me your capital. I--I give
you an entire people." The cause is gained.

"Bompain, Bompain!" calls the Nabob, roused to enthusiasm. He has now
but one fear, that is lest the thing escape him; and in order to bind
Paganetti, who has not concealed his need of money, he hastens to
effect the payment of a first instalment to the Territorial bank. New
appearance of the man in red breeches with the check-book which he
carries clasped gravely to his chest, like a choir-boy moving the Gospel
from one side to the other. New inscription of Jansoulet's signature
upon a slip, which the governor pockets with a negligent air and which
operates on his person a sudden transformation. The Paganetti who was
so humble and spiritless just now, goes away with the assurance of a
man worth four hundred thousand francs, while Monpavon, carrying it even
higher than usual, follows after him in his steps, and watches over him
with a more than paternal solicitude.

"That's a good piece of business done," says the Nabob to himself. "I
can drink my coffe