“H’m! that explains it. But you might be in worse hands; the man has a character for liberality.”
“Did your father mention to you my circumstances, and the reason that brings me to Paris?”
“Since you put the question point-blank, my dear cousin, he did.”
“He told you how poor I am, and how keen must be my lifelong struggle to keep Rochebriant as the home of my race?”
“He told us all that could make us still more respect the Marquis de Rochebriant, and still more eagerly long to know our cousin and the head of our house,” answered Raoul, with a certain nobleness of tone and manner.
Alain pressed his kinsman’s hand with grateful emotion. “Yet,” he said falteringly, “your father agreed with me that my circumstances would not allow me to—”
“Bah!” interrupted Raoul, with a gentle laugh; “my father is a very clever man, doubtless, but he knows only the world of his own day, nothing of the world of ours. I and Enguerrand will call on you to-morrow, to take you to my mother, and before doing so, to consult as to affairs in general. On this last matter Enguerrand is an oracle. Here we are at the Contessa’s.”
CHAPTER VI.
The Contessa di Rimini received her visitors in a boudoir furnished with much apparent simplicity, but a simplicity by no means inexpensive. The draperies were but of chintz, and the walls covered with the same material,—a lively pattern, in which the prevalents were rose-colour and white; but the ornaments on the mantelpiece, the china stored in the cabinets or arranged on the shelves, the small knickknacks scattered on the tables, were costly rarities of art.