"Monsieur John Lebrenn asks to speak with you, sir," announced a valet.
"John Lebrenn in Paris!—Pray Monsieur Lebrenn to wait an instant!" cried the banker to the valet, who at once left the room to execute his master's orders.
"My dear Monsieur Hubert, I am not at all anxious for a meeting with that red-cap Jacobin, and for reasons of a particular nature," said the Jesuit.
"Step into my cabinet. Thence you can descend by the little staircase."
"In case of unforeseen developments, write me, or—you know——"
"Oh, I forgot to ask you about the Count of Plouernel."
"He is," replied the Jesuit, "at Vienna, with his wife, who has just presented him with a son, according to what the Count's brother, the Bishop in partibus, whom you know, has just written me."
"And your god-son, little Rodin?"
"He is growing up under the eye of the Lord. He is in Rome, attending the seminary of our Society."
The financier conducted Father Morlet to the door of the cabinet, and then rang for the valet to show in Monsieur Lebrenn at once.