Marechal looked at the young man while he was explaining with animation his ambitious projects. He scrutinized that flat forehead within which the dandy asserted so many good ideas were hidden. He measured that slim form bent by wild living, and asked himself how that degenerate being could struggle against the difficulties of business. A smile played on his lips. He knew Savinien too well not to be aware that he was a prey to one of those attacks of melancholy which seized on him when his funds were low.
On these occasions, which occurred frequently, the young man had longings for business, which Madame Desvarennes stopped by asking: “How much?” Savinien allowed himself to be with difficulty induced to consent to renounce the certain profits promised, as he said, by his projected enterprise. At last he would capitulate, and with his pocket well lined, nimble and joyful, he returned to his boudoirs, race-courses, fashionable restaurants, and became more than ever the galley-slave of pleasure.
“And Pierre?” asked young Desvarennes, suddenly and quickly changing the subject. “Have you any news of him?”
Marechal became serious. A cloud seemed to have come across his brow; he gravely answered Savinien’s question.
Pierre was still in the East. He was travelling toward Tunis, the coast of which he was exploring. It was a question of the formation of an inland sea by taking the water through the desert. It would be a colossal undertaking, the results of which would be considerable as regarded Algeria. The climate would be completely changed, and the value of the colony would be increased tenfold, because it would become the most fertile country in the world. Pierre had been occupied in this undertaking for more than a year with unequalled ardor; he was far from his home, his betrothed, seeing only the goal to be attained; turning a deaf ear to all that would distract his attention from the great work, to the success of which he hoped to contribute gloriously.
“And don’t people say,” resumed Savinien with an evil smile, “that during his absence a dashing young fellow is busy luring his betrothed away from him?”
At these words Marechal made a quick movement.
“It is false,” he interrupted; “and I do not understand how you, Monsieur Desvarennes, should be the bearer of such a tale. To admit that Mademoiselle Micheline could break her word or her engagements is to slander her, and if any one other than you—”
“There, there, my dear friend,” said Savinien, laughing, “don’t get into a rage. What I say to you I would not repeat to the first comer; besides, I am only the echo of a rumor that has been going the round during the last three weeks. They even give the name of him who has been chosen for the honor and pleasure of such a brilliant conquest. I mean Prince Serge Panine.”
“As you have mentioned Prince Panine,” replied Marechal, “allow me to tell you that he has not put his foot inside Madame Desvarennes’s door for three weeks. This is not the way of a man about to marry the daughter of the house.”