Paul felt his temper rising, for these plain truths were hard to bear; but fear lest he should lose his protector kept him silent.
“I admit everything, sir,” said he calmly. “I was a fool, and almost mad, but experience has taught me a bitter lesson. I am here to-day, and this fact should tell you that I have given up all my vain hallucinations.”
“Will you give up Rose Pigoreau?”
As this abrupt question was put to him, Paul turned pale with anger.
“I love Rose,” answered he coldly; “she believes in me, and has shared my troubles with courage, and one day she shall be my wife.”
Raising his velvet cap from his head, Mascarin bowed with an ironical air, saying, “Is that so? Then I beg a thousand pardons. It is urgent that you should have immediate employment. Pray, what can you do? Not much of anything, I fancy;—like most college bred boys, you can do a little of everything, and nothing well. Had I a son, and an enormous income, I would have him taught a trade.”
Paul bit his lip; but he knew the portrait was a true one.
“And now,” continued Mascarin, “I have come to your aid, and what do you say to a situation with a salary of twelve thousand francs?”
This sum was so much greater than Paul had dared to hope, that he believed Mascarin was amusing himself at his expense.
“It is not kind of you to laugh at me, under the present circumstances,” remarked he.