“The estate must right itself in time,” he said, hopefully, “and if I could induce you to take the matter into consideration, and to advance me the money—”
He paused. M. de Cadanet turned towards his writing-table, unlocked a drawer, and drew out a cheque-book.
“You said, I think, two hundred thousand!” he asked, beginning to fill it in.
“Two hundred thousand,” repeated the young man, joyfully, without an attempt to conceal the exultation with which he watched the proceeding. All had gone more easily than his most sanguine expectations had ventured to suggest, and he was amazed at his own folly in having hesitated to apply to his rich cousin, whose bark, after all, was worse than his bite. M. de Cadanet’s movements were deliberate in the extreme. He wrote a cheque, folded it, and sought for an envelope of the right size. This found, he proceeded to direct it. Léon smiled to himself. “An unnecessary formality,” he thought; “but I had better hold my tongue, and let him please himself as to his way of doing.” It seemed to him, however, that the moment had come when he might express his gratitude, and he was beginning to stammer a few words, when M. de Cadanet put up his hand.
“One moment, monsieur. Allow me to explain. Neither the honour of this visit nor the particulars with which you have favoured me have taken me by surprise. I have already given the affairs of Poissy my best consideration.”
Léon nodded cheerfully. This explained.
“And I have arrived at the conclusion that since the Beaudrillart family has reached the point indicated by you, it must be decreed that it should pass the remainder of its existence without a château. Heaven forbid that I should attempt to fight against fate!”
The scorn of his words stung like a lash. Léon, bewildered and astonished, turned white. He murmured something which the old count interrupted with a sudden outburst of passion.
“What, monsieur! You squander your birthright on miserable follies, you drag the name you profess to honour into the lowest depths, and then come to beg—yes, monsieur, I repeat it, to beg—from those whose advice you have scorned, and whose character you have calumniated! No. I give you my word—a word which, however strange it may appear to you, has never yet been broken—that, in whatever straits you find yourself, I will not so much as lift my little finger to help you, nor fling a penny to keep you from starving. Understand that, if you had become poor by honest misfortunes, I would have set you again on your legs. You have had your chance. I would not trust mere report, though to those who were acquainted with your habits it appeared only too probable. Close and searching inquiries have been made, and it is possible that I know more of your affairs than you know yourself—certainly more than you have permitted me to hear from you to-day.”
Léon sprang to his feet.