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Book online «The Parisians — Complete by Baron Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton (beautiful books to read TXT) 📖». Author Baron Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton
“Then, M. Louvier, you will be 30,000 louis the richer if I take the mortgage off your hands.”
“I can afford the loss—no offence—better than you can; and I may have fancies which I don’t mind paying for, but which cannot influence another. See, I have brought with me the exact schedule of all details respecting this property. You need not question their accuracy; they have been arranged by the Marquis’s own agents, M. Gandrin and M. Hebert. They contain, you will perceive, every possible item of revenue, down to an apple-tree. Now, look at that, and tell me if you are justified in lending such a sum on such a property.”
“Thank you very much for an interest in my affairs that I scarcely ventured to expect M. Louvier to entertain; but I see that I have a duplicate of this paper, furnished to me very honestly by M. Hebert himself. Besides, I, too, have fancies which I don’t mind paying for, and among them may be a fancy for the lands of Rochebriant.”
“Look you, Duplessis, when a man like me asks a favour, you may be sure that he has the power to repay it. Let me have my whim here, and ask anything you like from me in return!”
“Desole not to oblige you, but this has become not only a whim of mine, but a matter of honour; and honour you know, my dear M. Louvier, is the first principle of sound finance. I have myself, after careful inspection of the Rochebriant property, volunteered to its owner to advance the money to pay off your hypotheque; and what would be said on the Bourse if Lucien Duplessis failed in an obligation?”
“I think I can guess what will one day be said of Lucien Duplessis if he make an irrevocable enemy of Paul Louvier. Corbleu! mon cher, a man of thrice your capital, who watched every speculation of yours with a hostile eye, might some beau jour make even you a bankrupt!”
“Forewarned, forearmed!” replied Duplessis, imperturbably, “Fas est ab hoste doceri,—I mean, ‘It is right to be taught by an enemy;’ and I never remember the day when you were otherwise, and yet I am not a bankrupt, though I receive you in a house which, thanks to you, is so modest in point of size!”
“Bah! that was a mistake of mine,—and, ha! ha! you had your revenge there—that forest!”
“Well, as a peace offering, I will give you up the forest, and content my ambition as a landed proprietor with this bad speculation of Rochebriant!”
“Confound the forest, I don’t care for it now! I can sell my place for more than it has cost me to one of your imperial favourites. Build a palace in your forest. Let me have Rochebriant, and name your terms.”
“A thousand pardons! but I have already had the honour to inform you, that I have contracted an obligation which does not allow me to listen to terms.”
As a serpent, that, after all crawlings and windings, rears itself on end, Louvier rose, crest erect:
“So then it is finished. I came here disposed to offer peace—you refuse, and declare war.”
“Not at all, I do not declare war; I accept it if forced on me.”
“Is that your last word, M. Duplessis?”
“Monsieur Louvier, it is.”
“Bon jour!”
And Louvier strode to the door; here he paused: “Take a day to consider.”
“Not a moment.”
“Your servant, Monsieur,—your very humble servant.” Louvier vanished.
Duplessis leaned his large thoughtful forehead on his thin nervous hand. “This loan will pinch me,” he muttered. “I must be very wary now with such a foe. Well, why should I care to be rich? Valerie’s dot, Valerie’s happiness, are secured.”
CHAPTER X.
Madame Savarin wrote a very kind and very apologetic letter to Isaura, but no answer was returned to it. Madame Savarin did not venture to communicate to her husband the substance of a conversation which had ended so painfully. He had, in theory, a delicacy of tact, which, if he did not always exhibit it in practice, made him a very severe critic of its deficiency in others. Therefore, unconscious of the offence given, he made a point of calling at Isaura’s apartments, and leaving word with her servant that “he was sure she would be pleased to hear M. Rameau was somewhat better, though still in danger.”
It was not till the third day after her interview with Madame Savarin that Isaura left her own room,—she did so to receive Mrs. Morley.
The fair American was shocked to see the change in Isaura’s countenance. She was very pale, and with that indescribable appearance of exhaustion which betrays continued want of sleep; her soft eyes were dim, the play of her lips was gone, her light step weary and languid.
“My poor darling!” cried Mrs. Morley, embracing her, “you have indeed been ill! What is the matter?—who attends you?”
“I need no physician, it was but a passing cold—the air of Paris is very trying. Never mind me, dear—what is the last news?”
Therewith Mrs. Morley ran glibly through the principal topics of the hour: the breach threatened between M. Ollivier and his former liberal partisans; the tone unexpectedly taken by M. de Girardin; the speculations as to the result of the trial of the alleged conspirators against the Emperor’s life, which was fixed to take place towards the end of that month of June,—all matters of no slight importance to the interests of an empire. Sunk deep into the recesses of her fauteuil, Isaura seemed to listen quietly, till, when a pause came, she said in cold clear tones:
“And Mr. Graham Vane—he has refused your invitation?”
“I am sorry to say he has—he is so engaged in London.”
“I knew he had refused,” said Isaura, with a low bitter laugh.
“How? who told you?”
“My own good sense told me. One may have good sense, though one is a poor scribbler.”
“Don’t talk in that way; it is beneath you to angle for compliments.”
“Compliments, ah! And so Mr. Vane has refused to come to Paris; never mind, he will come next year. I shall not be in Paris then. Did Colonel Morley see Mr. Vane?”
“Oh, yes; two or
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