"My dear young friend, you only share the lot of many others. Mariette knows nothing of your wealth; so when I offered her enough to turn the head of any starved working girl, she accepted with delight. Her godmother, who is also half starved, has a natural inclination for the luxuries of this life, and as the absent ones are always in the wrong—you understand—"
"Oh, my God! is it true then!" moaned Louis piteously, his wrath giving way to hopeless despair.
"Had I known I was entering in competition with a future client I would have abandoned the game," resumed the usurer; "but it is too late now. Besides, my young friend, there is nothing to cry about. This girl was much too inexperienced for you; you would have had to form her, while there are many charming women ready to drop in your arms. I would particularly recommend a certain Madame de Saint-Hildebrande—"
"Wretch!" cried Louis indignantly, grasping him by the collar and shaking him vigorously. "You miserable scoundrel!"
"Sir, you will give me satisfaction for this—!" gasped the enraged commander.
The door opened abruptly and the two adversaries turned their heads simultaneously as a gay burst of laughter rang through the room.
"Saint-Herem!" exclaimed Louis, recognizing his old friend.
"You here!" cried Florestan de Saint-Herem, grasping the young man's hand and gazing curiously into his pale face.
"May the devil take him for coming in at this moment!" muttered the usurer between his clenched teeth, as he readjusted the collar of his dressing-gown.