With the look of a man who has made up his mind to make the best of a disaster that he cannot help, M. Chapelain shrugged his shoulders.
“I am angry with no one but myself,” he uttered in a bluff tone. “An old bird like me should not have allowed himself to be caught in a pigeon-trap. I am inexcusable. But we want to get rich. It’s slow work getting rich by working, and it’s so much easier to get the money already made out of our neighbor’s pockets! I have been unable to resist the temptation myself. It’s my own fault; and I should say it was a good lesson, if it did not cost so dear.”
XXIV
So much philosophy could hardly have been expected of him.
“All my father’s friends are not as indulgent as you are,” said Maxence,—“M. Desclavettes, for instance.”
“Have you seen him?”
“Yes, last night, about twelve o’clock. He came to ask us to get father to pay him back, if we should ever see him again.”
“That might be an idea!”
Mlle. Gilberte started.
“What!” said she, “you, too, sir, can imagine that my father has run away with millions?”