“Call him what you will,” said the Marquis, indifferently; “M. Duplessis can be nothing to me.”
“I am not so sure of that,” answered Frederic, somewhat nettled by the phlegm with which the Provincial regarded the pretensions of the Parisian. “Duplessis, I repeat it, is an extraordinary man. Though untitled, he descends from your old aristocracy; in fact, I believe, as his name shows, from the same stem as the Richelieus. His father was a great scholar, and I believe he has read much himself. Might have distinguished himself in literature or at the bar, but his parents died fearfully poor; and some distant relations in commerce took charge of him, and devoted his talents to the ‘Bourse.’ Seven years ago he lived in a single chamber, ‘au quatrieme,’ near the Luxembourg. He has now a hotel, not large but charming, in the Champs Elysees, worth at least six hundred thousand francs. Nor has he made his own fortune alone, but that of many others; some of birth as high as your own. He has the genius of riches, and knocks off a million as a poet does an ode, by the force of inspiration. He is hand-in-glove with the Ministers, and has been invited to Compiegne by the Emperor. You will find him very useful.”
Alain made a slight movement of incredulous dissent, and changed the conversation to reminiscences of old school-boy days.
The dinner at length came to a close. Frederic rang for the bill,—glanced over it. “Fifty-nine francs,” said he, carelessly flinging down his napoleon and a half. The Marquis silently drew forth his purse and extracted the same sum. When they were out of the restaurant, Frederic proposed adjourning to his own rooms. “I can promise you an excellent cigar, one of a box given to me by an invaluable young Spaniard attached to the Embassy here. Such cigars are not to be had at Paris for money, nor even for love; seeing that women, however devoted and generous, never offer you anything better than a cigarette. Such cigars are only to be had for friendship. Friendship is a jewel.”
“I never smoke,” answered the Marquis, “but I shall be charmed to come to your rooms; only don’t let me encroach on your good-nature. Doubtless you have engagements for the evening.”
“None till eleven o’clock, when I have promised to go to a soiree to which I do not offer to take you; for it is one of those Bohemian entertainments at which it would do you harm in the Faubourg to assist,—at least until you have made good your position. Let me see, is not the Duchesse de Tarascon a relation of yours?”
“Yes; my poor mother’s first cousin.”
“I congratulate you. ‘Tres grande dame.’ She will launch you in ‘puro cielo,’ as Juno might have launched one of her young peacocks.”
“There has been no acquaintance between our houses,” returned the Marquis, dryly, “since the mesalliance of her second nuptials.”
“Mesalliance! second nuptials! Her second husband was the Duc de Tarascon.”