The comte sat down and wrote, with a firm hand:
"I undertake to pay this evening, at ten o'clock, the twenty-five thousand francs which my son owes.
"Comte de Saint-Remy."
"Your creditor merely wants his money; my guarantee will obtain a further delay. Let him go to M. Dupont, the banker, at No. 7 in the Rue Richelieu, and he will assure him of the validity of this promise."
"Oh, my father! How can I ever—"
"Expect me this evening; at ten o'clock I will bring the money. Let your creditor be here."
"Yes, father, and the day after I will set out for Africa. You shall see that I am not ungrateful! Then, perhaps, when I am again restored to honour you will accept my thanks?"
"You owe me nothing. I have said that my name shall not be dishonoured again; nor shall it be," said M. de Saint-Remy, in reply, taking up his cane, and moving towards the door.
"My father, at least shake hands with me!" said Florestan.
"Here this evening at ten o'clock," said the comte, refusing his hand.