Mysteries of Paris
Chapter 89 : "No, impossible," answered he hastily."By the way, Saint Remy, Madame de

"No, impossible," answered he hastily.

"By the way, Saint Remy, Madame de Senneval is another one--what do I say, one?--two-whom I would sacrifice willingly; for her husband is also on my list."

"What list?"

"Of those persons whom I would willingly see die, if poor D'Harville could have remained."

While Montbrison was a.s.sisting his cousin with her mantle, Lucenay said to him, "Since you are going with us, Conrad, order your carriage to follow ours, unless you will go, Saint Remy; then you can give me a place, and I will tell you a story worth two of the tailor's."

"I thank you," said Florestan, dryly: "I cannot accompany you."

"Then, good-bye. Have you had a dispute with my wife? See, she is getting into the carriage without speaking to you!"

"Cousin!" said Conrad, waiting through deference for the duke.

"Get in, get in," cried he: and stopping for a moment in the porch, he admired the viscount's equipage.

"Are these your sorrels, Saint Remy?"

"Yes."

"And your fat driver--what a figure! Just see how he holds his horses in his hands! I must confess, there is no one but a Saint Remy who has the best of everything."

"Madame de Lucenay and her cousin are waiting," said Florestan, with bitterness.

"It is true; how rude I am! Soon again, Saint Remy. Oh, I forgot; if you have nothing better to do, come and dine with us to-morrow. Lord Dudley has sent me from Scotland some grouse and heathc.o.c.ks. Just imagine something monstrous. It is agreed, is it not?"

The duke joined his wife and Conrad. Saint Remy remained alone, and saw the carriage depart; his own drew up, and as he took his seat he cast a look of rage, hatred, and despair on this house, where he had so often entered as a master, and which he now left, ignominiously driven away.

"Home," he said, roughly.

"To the hotel," said the footman to Patterson, shutting the door.

The bitter and sorrowful thoughts of Florestan on his way home can easily be imagined. As he entered, Boyer, who was waiting for him at the lodge, said, "My lord, the count is upstairs."

"It is well."

"There is also a man there, to whom the count has given an appointment at ten o'clock."

"Well, well. Oh, what a day!" said Florestan, as he was going upstairs to meet his father, whom he found in the saloon where the morning's interview had taken place. "A thousand pardons, father, for not being here when you arrived; but I----"

"The man who holds this forged draft is here?"

"Yes, father, below."

"Send for him to come up."

Florestan rang the bell; Boyer answered.

"Tell M. Pet.i.t Jean to come here."

"Yes, my lord;" and Boyer disappeared.

"How kind you are, father, to remember your promise!"

"I always remember what I promise."

"How grateful! How can I ever prove----"

"I will not have my name dishonored; it shall not be."

"It shall not be; no; and it shall never be more, I swear to you, father."

The count looked at his son in a singular manner, and repeated, "No, it shall never be more!" Then, with a sneering laugh, he added, "You are a conjuror!"

"I read my resolution in my heart."

The count made no reply, but walked up and down the room with his hands in the large pockets of his overcoat.

"M. Pet.i.t Jean," said Boyer, introducing a man with a low and cunning expression of face.

"Where is that bill?" said the count.

"Here it is, sir," said Pet.i.t Jean (a man of straw of Jacques Ferrand) presenting it.

"Is that it?" said the count to his son.

"Yes, father."

The count drew from the pocket of his waistcoat twenty-five notes of one thousand francs each, handed them to his son, and said, "Pay!"

Florestan paid, and took the draft with a profound sigh of satisfaction.

M. Pet.i.t Jean placed the bills carefully in an old pocket-book, and retired. Saint Remy went with him out of the room, while Florestan prudently tore up the note.

"At least the twenty-five thousand francs from Clotilde remain. If nothing is discovered, it is a consolation. But how she has treated me! Now, what can my father have to say to Pet.i.t Jean?"

The noise of a key turned in a lock made the viscount shudder.

His father re-entered; his pallor had increased.

"I thought I heard some one lock the door of my cabinet, father?"

"Yes, I locked it."

"You, father!" cried Florestan, surprised.

The count placed himself so that his son could not descend the private stairs which led to out-doors.