Banks and banking -- France -- History -- 19th -- Fiction
In this wise Sabatani twice passed by, bearing himself with the
effeminate grace of his semi-Oriental, semi-Italian nature, and
pretending not even to see his patron; whilst a few steps away,
Jantrou, standing motionless, with his back turned, seemed absorbed
in reading the despatches from foreign money markets, posted there in
grated frames. The _remisier_ Massias, who, always on the run, jostled
the group around Saccard, gave the latter a nod, as an answer doubtless
respecting some commission which he had quickly executed. And as the
opening hour approached, the endless tramping of the crowd, crossing
the hall in either sense, filled it with the deep agitation and roar of
a rising tide.
All were waiting for the first quotation.
Leaving the brokers' room, Mazaud and Jacoby had just come to the
_corbeille_ side by side, with an air of correct confraternity. Yet
they knew each other to be adversaries in the merciless struggle which
had been going on for weeks past, and which might end in the ruin
of either one or the other of them. Mazaud, good-looking, short and
slight of build, showed a gay vivacity, born of the good luck which had
hitherto attended him, the luck by which he had inherited the business
of his uncle at the early age of thirty-two; whilst Jacoby, a former
managing clerk who had become a broker after long service, thanks to
some customers who had financed him, had a huge belly and the heavy
gait of a man of sixty. Tall, bald, and grizzled, he displayed the
broad face of a good-natured fellow extremely fond of pleasure. And he
and Mazaud, both with their note-books in their hands, began talking
of the fine weather as though they had not held on the leaves of those
books the millions with which they were going to attack each other in
the destructive conflict between offer and demand.
'A fine frost, eh?'
'Yes, it was so delightful that I came on foot.'
Upon reaching the _corbeille_, the vast circular basin as yet
unlittered by waste paper, they paused for a moment, leaning against
the red velvet balustrade which encircled it, and continuing to
exchange disjointed, commonplace remarks whilst darting stealthy
glances around them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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