“Money was intrusted to me: I gambled and lost it.”
“Was it a large sum?”
“No; but more than I can replace. My poor mother, have I not taken everything from you? Did you not give me your last jewel?”
“But M. de Clameran is rich. He placed his fortune at my disposal. I will order the carriage, and go to him.”
“But M. de Clameran is absent, and will not return to Paris until next week; and if I do not have the money this evening, I am lost. Alas! I have thought deeply, and, although it is hard to die so young, still fate wills it so.”
He pulled a pistol from his pocket, and, with a forced smile, said:
“This will settle everything.”
Mme. Fauvel was too excited and frightened to reflect upon the horror of Raoul’s behavior, and that these wild threats were a last resort for obtaining money. Forgetful of the past, careless of the future, her every thought concentrated upon the present, she comprehended but one fact: that her son was about to commit suicide, and that she was powerless to prevent the fearful deed.
“Oh, wait a little while my son!” she cried. “Andre will soon return home, and I will ask him to give me—How much did you lose?”
“Thirty thousand francs.”