“Well, what do you say, now?” asked he.
Paul’s vanity had been so deeply wounded, and the effort that he had made to restrain himself so powerful, that he could only reply by a gasp.
“He felt it more than I thought he would,” said Mascarin to himself. “The fresh air will revive him.”
Paul’s legs bent under him, and he staggered so that Mascarin led him into a little café hard by, and ordered a glass of cognac, and in a short time Paul was himself once again.
“You are better now,” observed Mascarin; and then, believing it would be best to finish his work, he added, “A quarter of an hour ago I promised that I would ask you to settle what our intentions were to be regarding M. de Gandelu.”
“That is enough,” broke in Paul, violently.
Mascarin put on his most benevolent smile.
“You see,” remarked he, “how circumstances change ideas. Now you are getting quite reasonable.”
“Yes, I am reasonable enough now; that is, that I mean to be wealthy. You have no need to urge me on any more. I am willing to do whatever you desire, for I will never again endure degradation like that I have gone through to-day.”
“You have let temper get the better of you,” returned Mascarin, with a shrug of his shoulders.