With its sumptuous trimmings, its kerosene lights and its antiquated heating, the apartment into which a Frenchman moves when the State appoints him Governor of the privately-owned Bank of France looks and smells like a miser's snuggery. Last week the Bank of France's fusty servants, aging pensioners of the world's second largest gold hoard, gloomed darkly over their frugal supper. Their beloved master since 1930, M. Clement Moret, the National Tightwad and, as such, a national hero, had just been kicked upstairs from Governor of the Bank of France to Honorary Governor. He was going to receive the Grand Cross...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
