“Know what?” inquired Pascal.
But the marquis was again upon his guard. “I have a debt that must be paid this evening, at all hazards—a sacred obligation—in short, a debt of honor.”
“A debt of one hundred thousand francs?”
“No, it is only twenty-five thousand.”
“Is it possible that a rich man like you can be troubled about such a trifling sum, which any one would lend you?”
M. de Valorsay interrupted him with a contemptuous sneer. “Didn’t you just tell me that we were living in an age when no one has any money except those who are in business? The richest of my friends have only enough for themselves, even if they have enough. The time of old stockings, stuffed full of savings, is past! Shall I apply to a banker? He would ask two days for reflection, and he would require the names of two or three of my friends on the note. If I go to my notary, there will be endless forms to be gone through, and remonstrances without number.”
For a moment or more already, Pascal had been moving about uneasily on his chair, like a man who is waiting for an opportunity to make a suggestion, and as soon as M. de Valorsay paused to take breath, he exclaimed: “Upon my word! if I dared——”
“Well?”
“I would offer to obtain you these twenty-five thousand francs.”
“You?”