“So,” he said quite quietly, “he—my father—borrowed some? He—he had debts?”
“Yes.”
“Many?”
“Alas.”
“He—he did not pay them before he——?”
Marcelle de Ventadour slowly shook her head.
“And,” Bertrand asked, “since then? since my father—died, have his debts been paid?”
“We could not pay them,” his mother replied in a tone of dull, aching hopelessness, “we had no money. Your grandmother——”
“Grandmama,” he broke in, “said though we were poor, we could yet afford to entertain our relatives as befitted our rank. How can that be if—if we are still in debt?”
“Your grandmother is quite right, my dear boy, quite right.” Marcelle de Ventadour argued with pathetic eagerness; “she knows best. We must do our utmost—we must all do our very utmost to bring about your marriage with Rixende de Peyron-Bompar. Your great-aunt has set her heart on it, she has—she has, I know, made it a condition—your grandmother knows about it—she and Mme. de Mont-Pahon have talked it over together—Mme. de Mont-Pahon will make you her legatee on condition that you marry Rixende.”