Alfred de Rosann by G.W.M. Reynolds — page 177: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

150 Alfred de Rosann. Rose, ‘‘so e‘en draw up your deeds as you choose; and instead of a fortnight, put ten days.” ‘¢ You act like a nobleman,” said Mr. Robson, with an im- perturbable gravity which defied the slightest suspicion of its sincerity. To be brief, the agreement was concocted according to the amend- ment of Belle-Rose—the four hundred pounds were counted down upon the table—and the documents were handed over to the banker. When Belle-Rose had placed the bank-notes in his pocket-book, and when Mr. Robson had satisfied himself by a reference to a memorandum De Rosann had given him, that the papers were correct, both in number and identity, he could no longer contain the mingled contempt and indignation which he had nursed during the last hour; but he burst forth in a strain as vehement, if: not as eloquent, as that made use of by De Rosann, when he exposed the villany of La Motte. ‘¢ Miserable wretch !” cried the banker; “‘ I know not whether you be a Count or not, nor do I care: but one thing is very certain, that you are nothing more than an arrant swindler—an adventurer —a thief. Do you for one moment imagine that I believed an atom of your extravagant tales—your Roldans—your castles—your revenues—and your estates? Do you fancy I was blinded by your specious stories—your bounty towards De Rosann—your matrimonial speculations in his favour? Begone; and no longer sully this office with your presence !’’ ‘¢Tf De Rosann have said one word to you—”’ commenced Belle-Rose. ‘¢ He has not uttered a sentence to your prejudice, save the damning fact of your having stolen the papers from him at Havre,” cried the infuriate banker. ‘¢’Tig all the same; I may as well inform you what kind of a person your friend De Rosann is,” exclaimed Belle-Rose, coolly: and he was about to unfold all the disagreeable events in our hero's life, when Mr. Robson sprung forward, seized the wretch by the arm, and thrust him out of the office, anathematizing him as “a calumniator and a thief.” The discomfited Pierre did not think it worth while to trouble Mr. Robson any farther, but made his exit from the bank, mutter- ing curses against the English, and exclamations of joy in the same breath, when he recollected the sum of money he now possessed. ‘‘ After all,” said he, ‘‘ London is a miserable city, compared to my dear Paris: a cat cannot live by swindling im the former; and a whole menagerie of wild beasts may prey with impunity on the worthy citizens of the latter. If it were not so devilish convenient to be a Count in England, and so inconvenient—not to say un- entlemanly—to go to the galleys in France, I would return to Paris forthwith. As it is, let us try London a little longer.” With these words he cocked his hat on one side, ran his fingers through the bunches of hair that stuck out beneath the brims, threw an extraordinary swagger into his gait, and turned into Birch’s on Cornhill to take a bason of turtle soup, with a look COnicbooolks (GO)