But M. Fortunat had resolved to listen to nothing. He wished for no explanations, so distrustful was he of himself—so much did he fear that his adventurous nature would urge him to incur further risk. He was positively afraid of the Marquis de Valorsay’s eloquence; besides, he knew well enough that the person who consents to listen is at least half convinced. “Tell me nothing, monsieur,” he hastily answered; “it would be useless. I haven’t the money. If I had given you ten thousand francs last night, I should have been compelled to borrow them of M. Prosper Bertomy. And even if I had the money, I should still say ‘Impossible.’ Every man has his system—his theory, you know. Mine is, never to run after my money. With me, whatever I may lose, I regard it as finally lost; I think no more about it, and turn to something else. So your forty thousand francs have already been entered on my profit and loss account. And yet it would be easy enough for you to repay me, if you would follow my advice and go quietly into bankruptcy.”
“Never!” interrupted M. de Valorsay; “never! I do not wish to temporize,” he continued. “I will save all, or save nothing. If you refuse me your help, I shall apply elsewhere. I will never give my good friends, who detest me, and whom I cordially hate in return, the delicious joy of seeing the Marquis de Valorsay fall step by step from the high position he has occupied. I will never truckle to the men whom I have eclipsed for fifteen years. No, never! I would rather die, or even commit the greatest crime!”
He suddenly checked himself, a trifle astonished, perhaps, by his own plain-speaking; and, for a moment, he and M. Fortunat looked into each other’s eyes, striving to divine their respective secret thoughts.
The marquis was the first to speak. “And so,” said he, in a tone which he strove to make persuasive, but which was threatening instead, “it is settled—your decision is final?”
“Final.”
“You will not even condescend to listen to my explanation?”
“It would be a loss of time.”
On receiving this cruel reply, M. de Valorsay struck the desk such a formidable blow with his clenched fist that several bundles of papers fell to the floor. His anger was not feigned now. “What are you plotting, then?” he exclaimed; “and what do you intend to do? What is your object in betraying me? Take care! It is my life that I am going to defend, and as truly as there is a God in heaven, I shall defend it well. A man who is determined to blow his brains out if he is defeated, is a terribly dangerous adversary. Woe to you, if I ever find you standing between me and the Count de Chalusse’s millions!”
Every drop of blood had fled from M. Fortunat’s face, still his mien was composed and dignified. “You do wrong to threaten me,” said he. “I don’t fear you in the least. If I were your enemy, I should bring suit against you for the forty thousand francs you owe me. I should not obtain my money, of course, but I could shatter the tottering edifice of your fortune by a single blow. Besides, you forget that I possess a copy of our agreement, signed by your own hand, and that I have only to show it to Mademoiselle Marguerite to give her a just opinion of your disinterestedness. Let us sever our connection now, monsieur, and each go his own way without reference to the other. If you should succeed you will repay me.”
Victory perched upon the agent’s banner, and it was with a feeling of pride that he saw his noble client depart, white and speechless with rage. “What a rascal that marquis is,” he muttered. “I would certainly warn Mademoiselle Marguerite, poor girl, if I were not so much afraid of him.”