“Not at all,” said the ex-builder, impatiently. “When my money went into the concern, everything was already in train, as you know very well. The crisis was past, and the estate saved. How, how! That is what I ask.”
“I believe,” said M. Georges, with a little surprise, “that the baron received a loan from Monsieur de Cadanet—at least that is what Mademoiselle de Beaudrillart gave me to understand.”
“Ah! Yes! Precisely.” M. Bourget hesitated. “You know nothing, then, yourself! Had Monsieur de Cadanet shown any interest in the family before coming to the rescue at that moment!”
“To my knowledge, no. But Mademoiselle de Beaudrillart, who is an exceedingly capable person, spoke of his having been indebted to the defunct baron, her father. That, I imagine, explains it.”
M. Bourget walked on without answering. His next remark appeared extremely irrelevant.
“Monsieur de Beaudrillart and my daughter are in Paris.”
“Indeed? Your daughter, too?”
“You had not heard it?” He turned to him with unmistakable relief.
“No, I have heard very little.”
“And yet of all the gossiping places—However, it is quite true there is nothing remarkable in a visit to Paris. Here we part, I imagine, Monsieur Georges. I begin to believe that what you have all insisted upon is correct, and that I am a little fatigued. You must go out to Poissy yourself. You have never seen the little baron? No? Then decidedly you must go.”