Suddenly there were signs of restlessness in the one little green eye of the Marquis de Meuze. It rolled, turned and trembled in its orbit like a fishing cork. He tried hard to take in what was being said. What! There was no mistake about it this time! They were talking about gold mines at the end of the table. Quite so.... Gold mines! Nom n bon homme! Nom n chien! How could he listen to these gentlemen without being discourteous to the other one, that M. Raindal with his damned stories about mummies and Mariette Bey?... The marquis tried vainly to follow both conversations and his face became purple in the attempt. He could only hear a few words of the one that was carried on further from him: fontein ... rand ... chartered ... Cecil Rhodes ... de Beers ... claim ... and their technical syllables further pricked his curiosity. Well, it was no small matter to him! 120,000 francs engaged on the mining market. “120,000” the marquis repeated to himself; did it not give him a right to a certain amount of anxiety? And it seemed that it was in answer to him that he heard the voice of Pums in a half silence.
“Ya! Gewiss.... Ich glaube das die Red-Diamond....”
The Red-Diamond—Fontein!... Why, that was the favorite mine of the marquis, his most beloved stock, “his little Red Diamond,” as he called it victoriously! This time M. de Meuze could no longer contain himself. Brutally he turned right about and addressed the financiers:
“Excuse me, M. Pums, you have just mentioned the Red Diamond, I believe? Would it be indiscreet to ask what you were saying about it?”
“Not at all, marquis,” Pums replied, for he always felt honored when M. de Meuze consulted him.
And out of regard for the aged nobleman, the sizing up of the different mining stocks was carried on in French.
However, M. Raindal had not noticed this desertion. It was some time already since he had been speaking for Zoz benefit alone; he felt that a gradual mist of sympathy isolated them together from the rest of the party. He thought to himself, charmed and perhaps also emboldened by the mixture of wines he had been drinking:
“I was right.... One of Cleopatr followers!... A little Greek girl.... A true little Greek!”
Then he went on:
“One day the fellahs refused to carry our luggage on board; Mariette Bey rushed upon them, revolver in hand....”