“It is not that; you are amiable and ever friendly with me—”
“You are a woman, and the least politeness—”
“No! My father must have hurt your feelings unwittingly; for he is very good. I have asked him, and he did not seem to understand what I meant. But my questions drew his attention to you. He thinks highly of you and would like to see you filling a position more in harmony with your merit. You know that Monsieur Cayrol and my father have just launched a tremendous undertaking?”
“The ‘Credit European’?”
“Yes. They will have offices in all the commercial centres of European commerce. Would you like the management of one of these branches?”
“I, Mademoiselle?” cried Marechal, astonished, and already asking himself what interest Herzog could have in making him leave the house of Desvarennes.
“The enterprise is colossal,” continued Suzanne, “and frightens me at times. Is it necessary to be so rich? I would like my father to retire from these enormous speculations into which he has thrown himself, body and soul. I have simple tastes. My father wishes to make a tremendous fortune for me, he says. All he undertakes is for me, I know. It seems to me that he runs a great risk. That is why I am talking to you. I am very superstitious, and I fancy if you were with us it would bring us luck.”
Suzanne, while speaking, had leaned toward Marechal. Her face reflected the seriousness of her thoughts. Her lovely eyes implored. The young man asked himself how this charming girl could belong to that horrible Herzog.
“Believe me that I am deeply touched, Mademoiselle, by the favor you have done me,” said he, with emotion. “I owe it solely to your kindness, I know; but I do not belong to myself. I am bound to Madame Desvarennes by stronger ties than those of interest—those of gratitude.”
“You refuse?” she cried, painfully.