An Interloper

by Frances Mary Peard

He hurried back, and sent for M. Georges. In the crash of disaster he felt as if he had been purposely kept in ignorance, forgetting the letters which had seemed to him only the tiresome forebodings of a timid man. His mother, who refused to blame her son, offered up the intendant as a scapegoat. If he were not in fault, how could matters have arrived at their present disastrous condition? For what was he placed there, if not to preserve the estates! M. Léon winced.

“What I complain of is that the state of affairs should not have been forced upon me,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “Good heavens! if I had once understood, should I have been such a fool?”

Mlle. Claire, who was very pale, looked up.

“Did not Monsieur Georges entreat you to return, or to appoint to see him in Paris!”

“Entreat! He should have insisted,” cried Mme. de Beaudrillart. “If Léon had but understood the gravity of the case, or if I had but known! But Monsieur Georges is a man who lays infinite stress on minute points, and fails altogether to impress you with what is important.”

M. Georges was dismissed; and this was perhaps the only deliberate harshness Léon ever committed in his life. Then the young baron set himself to look into his debts, and get together the total sum; it amounted to more than two hundred thousand francs.

“There is but one thing,” said Mme. de Beaudrillart; “you must marry.”

But to this Léon, who had not shown himself very scrupulous, objected. He had no inclination, he said, to marry, and he disliked the idea of being indebted for Poissy itself to a wife. He would go to Paris, where it would be hard if he could not, among quick-witted advisers, find some means of redeeming his fortunes. He went, and, for the first time in his life, really worked, and with feverish energy. He ran here and there among his old companions, who were prodigal of sympathy, but offered little more substantial. It seemed impossible that he should be unable to raise money when, throughout his prosperous days, it had been pressed upon him. But his eyes were sufficiently opened to perceive that the only terms by which he could free himself from present disaster were ruinous, and would merely serve to postpone the evil day. As the value of his securities decreased, a more extortionate rate of interest was demanded. He cursed his own folly, but could see no way out of the quagmire into which it had plunged him. His friends reiterated Mme. de Beaudrillart’s advice. For the sake of rank, many a girl with a large fortune would be ready to raise his fallen fortunes; one or two were even pointed out to him, and their dowries dangled before his eyes. But he remained obstinate.

When he came to Paris there had been an idea of his seeking some appointment, by means of which, and the strictest economy at Poissy, the interest on his debts might be scraped together. Unfortunately, Léon’s ideas of money were large—so large that a little seemed to him as useless as none. If by one great coup he might gain a considerable sum—good! But to add franc to franc, and painfully lessen his obligations by scarcely perceptible payments, was economy from which his soul revolted, and which, therefore, he contrived to persuade himself was worthless. It might suit the sordid little nature of a bourgeois bonhomme, but not that of the owner of Poissy. Something larger must be attempted, and quickly.

Before Léon’s eyes there had floated for some time the possibility of applying to an old cousin of the family, a certain M. de Cadanet. For various reasons, it appeared as if he were the very person to assist him. Rumour credited him with an immense fortune; and, at any rate, there could be no doubt that he had made more than one successful speculation, among them that of marrying a rich wife, who died childless. Rich and solitary, what better person could be found to come to the rescue of the De Beaudrillarts? And there was an even stronger reason for counting upon his good-will. In the days when he had not found prosperity, and was struggling to stand up against more than one hard buffet dealt by Fortune, Léon’s father had given him a helping hand. Perhaps without him he would have been unable to keep his footing; certainly the support was of material service, and Léon had some excuse for thinking that now was the moment for him to return it.