“You are going, General?”
“Yes, I am going to speak to Baradier on the whole matter. Madame Baradier was particularly interested in Mademoiselle de Trémont. I intend to pay a visit of condolence, in person, to this young lady. Her father and myself were great friends, we made campaigns in Mexico and on the Loire together, whilst, on the retreat from Mans, Trémont saved all our lives, by an admirable battery arrangement in the rear of the army, which cut short the pursuit of the Prussians. A fine soldier! One who deserved to fall on the field of battle! But Fate decides such things. Everybody does not die the death he wishes! Well, I will see you to-morrow, Vallenot. And if you hear of anything fresh, ring me up on the telephone.”
The Colonel accompanied his principal right to the large staircase, saluted, and returned to the office.
CHAPTER II
In an old hotel situated at the end of a large courtyard, in the Rue de Provènce, has been established, for more than fifty years, the banking firm of Baradier and Graff. Following on the war of 1870, it was usual in business to designate this establishment under the company name of Alsace-Lorraine. They are ardent patriots, and never since the annexation have they returned to Metz. Still, they have never been willing to sell any of their land property in the lost provinces. They have kept a foot on the soil torn from France, as though they had no doubt they would return to it some day, like masters after a long and sorrowful absence. Baradier is a man of fifty-five years of age, stout and short, with ruddy, pleasant face lit up by light blue eyes. Graff is tall and thin, dark-complexioned, and of stern forbidding mien and glabrous countenance, the complete opposite of his ally, both physically and morally. For Baradier, with his engaging exterior, is an influential and practical man; whilst Graff, with his cold and reserved aspect, possesses the fancy and sensitiveness of a poet.
In other respects, admirably equipped, the imagination of the one moderated by the prudence of the other, and all rough points in the determination of the former being mitigated by the benevolent gentleness of the latter. In financial circles this fortunate want of similarity of disposition was well known. Never did a customer, after failing with Baradier, leave the house without calling at Graff’s office to appeal for his intervention, and obtaining a “just leave the matter to me, I will arrange it all” preliminary balm on the sore of displeasure, followed, in the majority of instances, by an arrangement profitable to both parties. For, in the long run, the two partners had reached such a point that they profited by the differences in their dispositions, and Baradier pretended to be altogether irreconcilable, well knowing that Graff would come in afterwards, and have the pleasure of arranging everything to suit all concerned.
Baradier, hearty and happy-looking, had two children, a son aged twenty-six and a daughter of eighteen, both admirably brought up by their mother. Graff, solemn and sentimental, had remained a bachelor. As Marcel Baradier said jokingly, he would be the best uncle in France in point of inheritance. In fact, Madame Baradier’s brother loves the two children as though they were his own, and every time Marcel commits some grave act of folly he always appeals to Uncle Graff to settle things, as his father is rather strict with him. Father and son, unfortunately, have often been on anything but good terms, for Marcel, reared in the lap of luxury, and early discovering the mercantile value of his name, has not always given his family all the satisfaction that might have been desired. “Nothing important,” said Uncle Graff; “merely money difficulties!”
It was so that the taciturn and modest banker, who would not have spent a farthing outside of his daily expenses on anything else than charity, called the debts which young Marcel periodically gave him the opportunity of paying. When his nephew comes for him at night, after dinner, before leaving for the club, where he goes to indulge in a game of cards, Uncle Graff knows at once his errand. He assumes his most gloomy aspect, sinks into his armchair, casts a veiled glance at his rather embarrassed heir, and, in sepulchral tones, demands—
“Well, what is it this time?”
Then, as Marcel develops his usual request—terribly bad luck at the races, or at baccarat, or some love difficulty—Graff looks at his sister’s son, and, without listening to a word, says to himself, What a handsome fellow! How could one with such a figure help getting into a scrape? He is popular everywhere by reason of his graciousness and amiability. He is only twenty-six, and is it not quite natural that he should enjoy himself while he is young? Why do Baradier and Graff engage in banking operations all day long, anxious as to what is happening at the London and Berlin Exchanges, as well as keeping an eye on the Bourse of Paris, if not for this charming and agreeable young fellow to enjoy himself whilst they are working? Well! Marcel, take your pleasure, and take my share as well, for am I not your steward? Off to the races in a fine turn-out, drawn by prancing horses, and take your place in the most exclusive society; your means, those of the firm of Baradier, will permit of all this. All the same, do not squander too much in gambling; do not wager in too extravagant a fashion, for this is an evil passion, and very harmful to those who recklessly give themselves up to it. In all things else do as you wish, and then come back and give your old uncle the pleasure of asking a service of him.