“I want to have another very serious talk to you, my boy,” she said. “Ah, yes,” she continued, raising his chin and looking down in his disgusted face; “how every lineament shows your descent! Henri, I do not mean to die until I have seen you claim your own, and you are received with acclamation as Comte Henri des Vignes.”
“I say, aunt, I’ve just brushed my hair,” he protested.
“Yes, dear, but you should not hide your forehead. It is the brow of the des Vignes.”
“Oh, all right, auntie, have it your own way. But, I say, have you got any money?”
“Alas! no, my boy.”
“I don’t mean now. I mean haven’t you really got any to leave me in your will?”
There was a far-off look in Aunt Margaret’s eyes as she slowly shook her head.
“You will leave me what you have, aunt?”
“If I had hundreds of thousands, you should have all, Henri; but, alas, I have none. I had property once.”
“What became of it?”