“Excuse me, but there is the fortune of my poor brother George, who disappeared so mysteriously.”
“Let me assure you,” answered Mascarin, “that we had better be perfectly frank with each other.”
“And am I not so?” answered the Marquis.
“Why, in talking of this imaginary fortune?”
“It is not imaginary; it is real, and a very large one, too, about twelve or fourteen hundred thousand francs, and I can obtain it, for, by Articles 127 and 129 of the Code Napoleon—-”
He interrupted himself, as he saw an expression of hardly-restrained laughter upon the features of Dr. Hortebise.
“Do not talk nonsense,” answered Mascarin. “You could at first have filed an affidavit regarding your brother’s disappearance, and applied to the Court to appoint you trustee, but this is now exactly what you wish to avoid.”
“Why not, pray? Do you think——”
“Pooh, pooh, but you have raised so much money on this inheritance that there is nothing of it left hardly, certainly not sufficient to pay your debts. It is the bait you used to allure your tradespeople into giving you credit.”
At finding himself so easily fathomed, Croisenois burst into a peel of laughter. Mascarin had by this time thrown himself into an armchair, as though utterly worn out by fatigue.