“Thanks, André.” M. Léon burst into a laugh, and tossed the man a piece of twenty sous. “Tell monsieur le comte—No; tell him nothing; I will write.”
That evening M. de Cadanet received a letter:
“My Cousin,—I have taken the liberty of borrowing the sum which you had so thoughtfully prepared for Monsieur Charles. It would have been better for him if you had accepted my offer to post your letter; as you declined to trust me, I had no scruple in exchanging it for another which found itself in my hand at the exact moment. Do not blame your messenger, who is quite unaware of the transaction. By my writing to you, you will perceive that I have no intention of denying what I have done. It is in your power to have me arrested. You know where to find me, and I will remain in Paris for two days, so as to avoid the pain to my family of a scandal at Poissy. Permit me, however, to point out that I have only taken the money as a loan, that it will be returned to you by instalments, and with interest, though, I fear, slowly, and that you may find it more advantageous to allow the matter to rest than to ruin one who, however unworthy, is the son of the man to whom you were certainly indebted for your prosperity.”
It must be owned that this was a strange letter to write and to receive. The answer that came back was brief:
“Monsieur,—You have confirmed me in my judgment. I preserve your letter. For the present I hold my hand; when the time arrives I shall know how to act.
“Martin de Cadanet.”
Chapter Three.
The Household at Poissy.
The letter which arrived at Poissy came with all the force of a shock to Mme. de Beaudrillart and her daughters. It was true that they were well aware that an evil menaced, but it appeared inconceivable that it should have arrived. Léon had assured them that something would turn up; he was confident that Paris must offer a means of evading the worst, and, indeed, in all that he had said had temporised, excused himself, and hinted at unforeseen misfortune. M. Georges, indeed, had spoken more plainly to Mlle. Claire, but his words had been indignantly scouted by Mme. de Beaudrillart. Even now, when Léon had taken refuge in a letter which might break the worst in his absence, and spare him the pain of seeing, not reproachful looks, but tears, they refused to face the crash as inevitable. That the De Beaudrillart home should pass from the De Beaudrillarts was absolutely out of the question. That Léon’s extravagance had brought about even threat of such disaster immediately required extenuating words, and a laying of blame on any shoulders except his. Of the three, Claire was the only one who permitted a tinge of bitterness to creep, now and then, into her words.