En vieillissant on devient plus fou et plus sage
La Rochefoucauld. Maximes, 210.
Quien Mucho abarca poco a prieta. (Spanish Proverb.)
Payot's financial schemes had not been flourishing of late. The Morocco concessions for very obvious reasons had unavoidably fallen through, and the financier's credit was none of the best.
It is a well-known fact that many men finding their business affairs going from bad to worse, revert to speculation with a view of retrieving their fallen fortunes. The general result of this policy is that instead of quietly setting about putting their house in order so as to stop the debacle, they get dragged deeper and deeper into the mire of financial ruin. Unfortunately for Payot, who was naturally rather a weak and credulous character, matters had almost reached that acute and alarming stage with him, and he proved no exception to the rule.
One day after the termination of his visit to Dr. Villebois's house, while sitting comfortably in his armchair after dinner, a portly looking gentleman with a clean-shaven, very red and puffy face, was announced.
"Monsieur le Baron D'Ormontagne," said the butler, handing M. Payot the visitor's card.
The baron appeared to be about forty-five years of age, with a digestive apparatus of vast dimensions, which was screened off by a white waistcoat carrying a gold chain with links like a cable. His nose was very large and decidedly curved, and this, together with his fleshy under-lip and double chin, betrayed both his affluence and his Hebrew origin. The baron was known among his former associates as Moses Goldberg, but fortune having favoured him of late, he felt that his position warranted his assuming the more ambitious title of Baron D'Ormontagne, which of course meant the same thing, only it sounded very differently.
"Pray sit down, baron," said Payot, handing him a chair, and looking him up and down as if he were about to measure him for a suit of clothes. "What service may I have the pleasure to render you?"
The baron who was very wheezy, commenced operations by drawing a large red bandana handkerchief from the recesses of his capacious coat pocket, and after a few flourishes, began coughing violently and clearing his throat.
"I presume I have the distinguished honour and good fortune to address M. Felix Payot, am I correct?"