“Before Monsieur le comte says a word against himself,” said Eliza, “I would have the honor of being the first to rush to his defense. The favorable consequences of the recoinage were immense: for it raised a fortune for the war.”
“But Madame la duchesse was a true Cassandra that evening in the sleigh,” said Pontchartrain, “for there have been consequences that I did not foretell, and one of them is that French coins are not likely to be accepted at full value in English market-places.”
“Monsieur, have you given any thought to minting invasion coin?” asked d’Erquy.
“Yes, monsieur, and to using Pieces of Eight. But before we take such measures, I am eager to hear more from our hostess concerning the English Mint.”
“I am simply pointing out to you, monsieur,” said Eliza, “that there already exists a mechanism for importing silver bullion to England, at no risk to France; having it made into good English coin in London; and transferring the coin into the hands of trusted French agents there.”
“What is this mechanism, madame?” inquired d’Erquy, suspicious that Eliza was having them on.
“France’s chief connection to the international money market is not here in St.-Malo, or even in Paris, but rather down in Lyon. The King’s moneylender is of course Monsieur Samuel Bernard, and he works hand-in-glove with a Monsieur Castan. I know Castan; he is a pillar of the Dép?t. He can deliver money to any of several merchant banking houses who maintain agencies in Lyon, and get negotiable Bills of Exchange which can be endorsed to French agents who can transport them to London in advance of the invasion. These may be presented well in advance of the expiry of their usance to bankers in London who, upon accepting them, will make whatever arrangements may be necessary to have the coin ready on the date the bills come due—which may mean that they shall have to ship bullion over from Amsterdam or Antwerp and have it minted at the Tower. But that is their concern, not ours, and their risk. The coin shall be delivered to our agents, who need merely transport it to the front to pay the troops.”
Early in this discourse, the mouth of Madame de Bearsul fell open, as if she might more easily take in these difficult words and notions through her mouth than her ears; and as Eliza went on, similar transformations came over the faces of all her other auditors, including some at adjacent tables; and by the time she reached the terminal phrase pay the troops, they had all begun glancing at each other, trying to build solidarity in their confusion. And so before anyone could give voice to his amazement, Eliza, with unfeigned, uncharacteristic ardor for her role as entertainer to the bored nobility of France, had got to her feet (obliging étienne, Pontchartrain, and d’Erquy to stand) and begun to arrange a new parlor-game. “We are going to put on a little masque,” she announced, “and all of you must sit, sit, sit!” And she called to a servant to bring quills, ink, and paper.
“But, Eliza, how can gentlemen sit in the presence of a lady who stands?” asked étienne.
“The answer is simple: In the masque, I am no lady, but a God: Mercury, messenger of Olympus, and patron deity of Commerce. You must phant’sy wings on my ankles.”
The mere mention of ankles caused a little intake of breath from étienne, and a few eyes flicked nervously his way. But Eliza forged on: “You, Monsieur de Pontchartrain, must sit. You are the Deliverer: the contr?leur-général of France.”
“That should be an easy r?le for me to play, Mercury,” said the contr?leur-général, and, with a little bow to Eliza, sat down.
Now—since the ranking man in the room had done it—all others were eager to join in.
“First we enact the simple Bill of Exchange,” said Eliza, “which requires only four, plus Mercury. Later we will find r?les for the rest of you.” For several had gravitated over from different tables to see what the commotion was about. “This table is Lyon.”
“But, Mercury, already I cannot suspend my disbelief, for the contr?leur-général does not go to Lyon,” said Pontchartrain.
“We will remedy that in a few minutes, but for now you are in Lyon. Sitting across from you will be étienne, playing the r?le of Lothar the Banker.”
“Why must I have such a ridiculous name?” demanded étienne.
“It is an excellent name among bankers—Lothar is Ditta di Borsa in Lyon, Bruges, and many other places.”
“That means he has impeccable credit among other bankers,” said Pontchartrain.
“Very well. As long as the fellow is as well-reputed as you say, I shall accept the r?le,” said étienne, and sat down across the table from Pontchartrain.