“Look here, Colonel, it’s no use denying it; I’m broke—as surely as a man who’s gone to the dogs on his own account; the only difference is that I’ve been thrown to ’em. There’s an awfulness about the thing I’ve been made to do that has bowled me over—pride, self-respect, and all. I shall work round again all right, I’ve no doubt, but I can’t set to it in England or in the army. Help me to get away as fast as I can; it’s the greatest kindness you can do me.”
He had made up his mind past gainsaying. The Colonel was deeply moved, self-reproach adding force to his compassion.
“If you won’t be persuaded,” he began slowly, “I suppose I must help you your own way. How would Paris suit you?”
“Any place would suit me where I could get anything to do. And Paris would be lively for Nouna,” he added, half to himself.
The Colonel would have preferred that Nouna’s name should be left out of the discussion. He continued: “A young American, a connection of Lady Millard’s, who is engaged in a bank here called the ‘London, New York, and Chicago,’ was telling me at their place a few nights ago that the firm intend to start a branch establishment in Paris, for the use chiefly of the English and American colonies. They have an opening for a young man of good birth and address. It’s a wretched thing, I know, for you,” he went on with a change of voice, glancing again regretfully from head to foot of the handsome young soldier.
“Can you get it for me?” asked Lauriston, with a first sign of eagerness.
“I think so, but—the salary is miserable and——”
“What will they give?”
“Something like a hundred and twenty at the outside to begin with. It’s starvation.”
“Not a bit of it. It’s more than my pay.”