“What are you doing, Louis? I am waiting for you.”
“I am coming now,” he replied.
Hastily thrusting Lafourcade’s letter into his trunk, Louis ran down to his brother.
He had made up his mind to borrow a large sum from Gaston, and go off to America; and Raoul might get out of the scrape as best he could.
The only thing which now disturbed him was the sudden failure of the most skilful combination he had ever conceived; but he was not a man to fight against destiny, and determined to make the best of the emergency, and hope for better fortune in his next scheme.
The next day about dusk, while walking along the pretty road leading from the foundery to Oloron, he commenced a little story which was to conclude by asking Gaston to lend him two hundred thousand francs.
As they slowly went along arm in arm, about half a mile from the foundery they met a young laborer who bowed as he passed them.
Louis dropped his brother’s arm, and started back as if he had seen a ghost.
“What is the matter?” asked Gaston, with astonishment.
“Nothing, except I struck my foot against a stone, and it is very painful.”