"What a question! Come, leave your archduke, give me some promise, and I put in your hand a million in drafts. I will make an act with my notary for the hundred thousand pounds annuity, and if Father Pascal is satisfied, he is not at the end of his rolls."
The financier spoke the truth; he had made these offers sincerely. The increasing admiration he felt at the sight of Madeleine, the pride of taking the mistress of a prince, the vanity of surrounding her, before the eyes of all Paris, with a splendour which would excite the envy of all,—finally, the abominable hope of inducing the marquise, by means of money, to take Antonine away from Frantz,—all, in his ignominy and in his magnificence, justified his offer to Madeleine.
Recognising from this offer the degree of influence she exercised over Pascal, Madeleine rejoiced in it, and, to obtain further proof of his sincerity, she said, with apparent hesitation:
"Without doubt, monsieur, these propositions are above my poor merit, but—"
"Fifty thousand pounds more annuity, and a charming country-house," cried Pascal. "That is my last word, marquise."
"And this is mine, M. Pascal," said Madeleine, rising and giving the financier a look which made him recoil.
"Listen to me well. You are basely avaricious; your magnificent offer proves, then, the impression I have made on you."
"If this offer is not enough," cried Pascal, clasping his hands, "speak, and—"
"Be silent, I have no need of your money."
"My fortune, if necessary."