“My uncle’s wealth,” replied Bayre, sharply, “as you call it, is not my affair, nor will it ever have any concern for me.”
“It might have,” said Pierre, slowly. “With a little word in your ear, sir, if you would choose that I should say it, your uncle’s wealth might be a very interesting matter to you.”
“Why, you old rascal, do you suppose I should levy blackmail upon my own relation?” cried Bayre, indignantly.
“Ah, well, it does him very little good, monsieur. Even his collection, which pleases all the world, has ceased to give him much pleasure,” said Pierre. “So much money, money, shut up in pictures, and enamels, and nicknacks. That is so, hein!”
Vazon understood his master pretty well, Bayre thought, as he gave the would-be betrayer another look.
“And he has a secret, you say?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Which you are ready to sell to me?”
“Well, well, who has a greater right to it than you, his near relation? And secrets are worth money, money. And young men like you, monsieur, can do with money, eh?”
And the peasant, like a rough Mephistopheles, came close to his ear.