“Yesterday I was summoned before the magistrate; those rascally shop-keepers—fuel merchants, upholsterers, and dealers of every degree, had put in above five and twenty claims against me. It is horrible to have to talk of such low things; the words seem to burn my mouth, and my face tingles with shame. Tell me—say that you pity me.”
“I do indeed,” said Leon moved to sincere commiseration.
“I do not pretend to excuse myself,” the marquis went on with melodramatic pathos and closing his eyes. “Every resource is exhausted and every door is closed. Of our jewels nothing is left—not even the pawnbroker’s tickets. A money-lender to whom I applied yesterday, the only one in whom I had the slightest hope, gave me a very rough reception and showed me out with speeches that I would rather forget. Oh! it is dreadful to have to tell you such things, Leon, and I do not know how I find courage to say them; I go round and round the treadmill of misery into which I have been thrust, and still it seems to me that it is all a lie—that it cannot be I who have to bear such things—I, Agustín Luciano de Sudre, Marquis de Tellería, the son of one of the noblest gentlemen of Extremadura and heir to a name that has been handed down through centuries with dignity and honour.”
“Yes,” said Leon stiffly, “it might well be a lie! and the most improbable part of it is that after having been rescued already, more than once, by generous hands from this abyss of disgrace and misery, you have fallen into it again.”
“You are right, but I am weak; and the fault is not mine alone,” said the marquis as meekly as a schoolboy. “My wife and my sons have given me a push that my fall might be the quicker and more certain. If I were to tell you the worst, the darkest feature of it all—indeed my dear Leon, my only friend, I must tell you all, though these are things that a man only tells to the pillow he sleeps on, and blushes even then. But I have no secrets from you ... still it is hard, very hard ... all the blood of the Castilian nobles that flows in my veins curdles at the thought, and I feel as if an invisible hand held my lips.”
“But if it is not the aim and object of your visit, you need say nothing about it.”
“Nay, it has to be said, bitter as it is. You know that Gustavo has been very intimate for some time with the Marquesa de San Salomó. Well, Gustavo—but I do not believe that it was his idea, I believe it was some cunning suggestion of my wife’s—Milagros—I hardly know how to speak of it—what words to use in speaking of the members of my own family. In short, Pilar de San Salomó gave Gustavo a certain sum of money, for what purpose I do not know, but a considerable sum, which my miserable wife, on some inconceivable pretence, chose to appropriate; they made their own arrangements; whether there was any promissory-note or written agreement I did not hear. But my son, who is a gentleman, finding himself seriously compromised, had a violent scene with his mother only last evening about this money, and you cannot conceive the row there was in the house. Gustavo and Polito were ready to fight. I had to strain every nerve to keep peace. At last Gustavo went off to his own room; I, suspecting something worse, followed him and found him with a pistol at his head, about to shoot himself.... Then there was another scene and a fresh outburst, with the addition, this time, of his mother’s horror.... Oh, what a night! My dear fellow, what a dreadful night! To crown all, the servants, in despair of being paid a farthing, have left the house after insulting us with a chorus of abuse, calling us ... But no, there are words which I cannot utter.”
The marquis was quite beside himself; great drops of sweat stood on his forehead and his breast heaved like that of a man who has been carrying a terrific burthen. Leon found no words to break the pause that ensued. It was Don Agustín who at length collected his failing strength and, putting on the most dismal and appealing face that he could command, exclaimed:
“Leon, my son, save me, save me from this depth of misery! If you do not I shall die ... we shall all die—save my noble name!”