"If I pay you the hundred thousand francs," he said slowly, "will you be satisfied? Will you let me eat in peace?"
"Absolutely," said Peppino.
"But how can I pay you?"
"Simple. You have an account with Thomson and French banking, on Via dei Banchi in Rome. Just write me a bank draft for four thousand, nine hundred, and ninety-eight gold coins to those gentlemen. Our banker will collect it."
Danglars realized he had no choice. He took the pen, ink, and paper Peppino offered and wrote out the draft with shaking hands. "Here. A draft payable on sight."
"And here is your chicken."
Danglars carved into the bird with trembling hands. For one hundred thousand francs, it was disappointingly small and thin. Meanwhile, Peppino examined the paper carefully, tucked it into his pocket, and returned to his chickpeas.
The next day, Danglars was hungry again.
