“The baron is in Paris.”
“So I heard.”
“So he heard? Of course! Everything is known,” reflected M. Bourget, mopping his face with a red bandanna. “Have you heard anything else, monsieur?”
“No. Why should I!” returned the other, with surprise. “But to tell you the truth I have been a great deal taken up with my own affairs, for I have had the misfortune to lose my old grandfather at Nantes, monsieur; an excellent man, and an irreparable loss. As his only descendant I inherit a small estate, and I have had to come here on business connected with it. You will understand that this has occupied me.”
“A small estate!” repeated M. Bourget, gazing at him with a new respect. “Things are then looking up for you, Monsieur Georges! That is better than being intendant, even at Poissy. And I never thought the Baron Léon behaved well in that matter.”
M. Georges waved his hand gently.
“The baron was young, and his mother, if I might say so, a little masterful, although I admire her, I admire them all, immensely. People cannot be expected to feel very kindly towards those who are always prognosticating evil, still less when it comes true.”
“But Monsieur de Beaudrillart has managed to pull himself together, and to set the estate upon its legs again. How did he raise the money to do it?”
M. Georges looked at his companion and smiled.
“People would say you could best answer that question, Monsieur Bourget.”