“How? Where’s the money?”
“Where’s the money?” said Pradelle mockingly. “You want fifty or a hundred for a few days, when you would return it fifty times over; and you say, where’s the money?”
“Don’t I tell you I have no one I could borrow from?” said Harry angrily.
“Yes, you have,” said Pradelle, sinking his voice. “It’s easy as easy. Only for a few days. A temporary loan. Look here.”
He bent down, and whispered a few words in the young man’s ear, words which turned him crimson, and then deadly pale.
“Pradelle!” he cried, in a hoarse whisper; “are you mad?”
“No. I was thinking of coming over to Auvergne to spend a month with my friend, the Count. By-and-by, dear lad—by-and-by.”
“No, no; it is impossible,” said Harry hoarsely, and he gave a hasty glance round.
“No,” whispered Pradelle, “no; it is not impossible, but as simple as A B C.”
“But,” faltered Harry, who was trembling now.