Baron Trigault's Vengeance [107]
can be troubled about such a trifling sum, which any one would lend you?"
M. de Valorsay interrupted him with a contemptuous sneer. "Didn't you just tell me that we were living in an age when no one has any money except those who are in business? The richest of my friends have only enough for themselves, even if they have enough. The time of old stockings, stuffed full of savings, is past! Shall I apply to a banker? He would ask two days for reflection, and he would require the names of two or three of my friends on the note. If I go to my notary, there will be endless forms to be gone through, and remonstrances without number."
For a moment or more already, Pascal had been moving about uneasily on his chair, like a man who is waiting for an opportunity to make a suggestion, and as soon as M. de Valorsay paused to take breath, he exclaimed: "Upon my word! if I dared----"
"Well?"
"I would offer to obtain you these twenty-five thousand francs."
"You?"
"Yes, I."
"Before six o'clock this evening?"
"Certainly."
A glass of ice-water presented to a parched traveller while journeying over the desert sands of Sahara could not impart greater relief and delight than the marquis experienced on hearing Pascal's offer. He literally felt that he was restored to life.
For ruin was inevitable if he did not succeed in obtaining twenty- five thousand francs that day. If he could procure that amount he might obtain a momentary respite, and to gain time was the main thing. Moreover, the offer was a sufficient proof that his financial difficulties were not known. "Ah! I have had a fortunate escape," he thought. "What if I had revealed the truth!"
But he was careful to conceal the secret joy that filled his heart. He feared lest he might say "Yes" too quickly, so betray his secret, and place himself at the mercy of the baron's envoy. "I would willingly accept your offer," he exclaimed, "if----"
"If what?"
"Would it be proper for me, after the baron has treated me in such a contemptible manner, to have any dealings with one of his subordinates?"
Pascal protested vigorously. "Allow me to say," he exclaimed, "that I am not any one's subordinate. Trigault is my client, like thirty or forty others--nothing more. He employs me in certain difficult and delicate negotiations, which I conduct to the best of my ability. He pays me, and we are each of us perfectly independent of the other."
From the look which Valorsay gave Pascal, one would have sworn that he suspected who his visitor really was. But such was not the case. It was simply this: a strange, but by no means impossible, idea had flashed through the marquis's mind--"Oh!" thought he, "this unknown party with whom Maumejan offers to negotiate the loan, is probably none other than the baron himself. That worthy gambler has invented this ingenious method of obliging me so as to extort a rate of interest which he would not dare to demand openly. And why not? There have been plenty of such instances. Isn't it a well-known fact that the N---- Brothers, the most rigidly honest financiers in the world, have never under any circumstances directly obliged one of their friends? If their own father, of whom they always speak with the greatest veneration, asked them to lend him fifty francs for a month, they would say to him as they do to every one else: 'We are rather cramped just now; but see that rascal B----.' And that rascal B----, who is the most pliable tool in existence, will, providing father N---- offers unquestionable security, lend the old gentleman his son's money at from twelve to fifteen per cent. interest, plus a small commission."
These ideas and recollections were of considerable assistance in restoring Valorsay's composure. "Enough said, then," he answered, lightly. "I accept with pleasure. But----"
"Ah! so there is a but!"
"There is always one. I must warn you that it will be difficult for me to repay this loan in less than two months."
This, then, was the time he thought necessary for the accomplishment of his
M. de Valorsay interrupted him with a contemptuous sneer. "Didn't you just tell me that we were living in an age when no one has any money except those who are in business? The richest of my friends have only enough for themselves, even if they have enough. The time of old stockings, stuffed full of savings, is past! Shall I apply to a banker? He would ask two days for reflection, and he would require the names of two or three of my friends on the note. If I go to my notary, there will be endless forms to be gone through, and remonstrances without number."
For a moment or more already, Pascal had been moving about uneasily on his chair, like a man who is waiting for an opportunity to make a suggestion, and as soon as M. de Valorsay paused to take breath, he exclaimed: "Upon my word! if I dared----"
"Well?"
"I would offer to obtain you these twenty-five thousand francs."
"You?"
"Yes, I."
"Before six o'clock this evening?"
"Certainly."
A glass of ice-water presented to a parched traveller while journeying over the desert sands of Sahara could not impart greater relief and delight than the marquis experienced on hearing Pascal's offer. He literally felt that he was restored to life.
For ruin was inevitable if he did not succeed in obtaining twenty- five thousand francs that day. If he could procure that amount he might obtain a momentary respite, and to gain time was the main thing. Moreover, the offer was a sufficient proof that his financial difficulties were not known. "Ah! I have had a fortunate escape," he thought. "What if I had revealed the truth!"
But he was careful to conceal the secret joy that filled his heart. He feared lest he might say "Yes" too quickly, so betray his secret, and place himself at the mercy of the baron's envoy. "I would willingly accept your offer," he exclaimed, "if----"
"If what?"
"Would it be proper for me, after the baron has treated me in such a contemptible manner, to have any dealings with one of his subordinates?"
Pascal protested vigorously. "Allow me to say," he exclaimed, "that I am not any one's subordinate. Trigault is my client, like thirty or forty others--nothing more. He employs me in certain difficult and delicate negotiations, which I conduct to the best of my ability. He pays me, and we are each of us perfectly independent of the other."
From the look which Valorsay gave Pascal, one would have sworn that he suspected who his visitor really was. But such was not the case. It was simply this: a strange, but by no means impossible, idea had flashed through the marquis's mind--"Oh!" thought he, "this unknown party with whom Maumejan offers to negotiate the loan, is probably none other than the baron himself. That worthy gambler has invented this ingenious method of obliging me so as to extort a rate of interest which he would not dare to demand openly. And why not? There have been plenty of such instances. Isn't it a well-known fact that the N---- Brothers, the most rigidly honest financiers in the world, have never under any circumstances directly obliged one of their friends? If their own father, of whom they always speak with the greatest veneration, asked them to lend him fifty francs for a month, they would say to him as they do to every one else: 'We are rather cramped just now; but see that rascal B----.' And that rascal B----, who is the most pliable tool in existence, will, providing father N---- offers unquestionable security, lend the old gentleman his son's money at from twelve to fifteen per cent. interest, plus a small commission."
These ideas and recollections were of considerable assistance in restoring Valorsay's composure. "Enough said, then," he answered, lightly. "I accept with pleasure. But----"
"Ah! so there is a but!"
"There is always one. I must warn you that it will be difficult for me to repay this loan in less than two months."
This, then, was the time he thought necessary for the accomplishment of his