"That is very easy!—I was in want of money. The Dujarrier furnished me with a little for that affair. She is too niggardly. I ask madame for some. She assumes a haughty tone, and, instead of comprehending that I come as a friend, she threatens to have me put out of doors. Blackmail! I?—I?—What nonsense!"
A friend! This man dared to say before her who bore the name of Duchesse de Rosas that he came to her as an intimate. This alcoholic braggart had assisted Marianne in sub-renting, he knew not what hôtel, from a wanton!—Rue Prony!—Vanda!—What was there in common between these names and that of the duchess? And the Dujarrier, that Dujarrier whose manner of living was known to the Castilian, how had she become associated with Marianne's life?
Ah! since he had commenced, this Gochard would make an end of it. He would tell everything! Even if he did not wish it, he would speak now. Rosas, frightened himself, and terrified at the prospect of some unknown baseness and doubtful transaction, felt Marianne's hand tremble in his, and by degrees, as Gochard proceeded, the duke realized that Marianne wished to get away and it was he who now retained her; holding the young woman's wrist tightly within his fingers, he forcibly prevented her from escaping, insisting that she should listen and hear everything.
"Ah! if you think that I am afraid of speaking," said Gochard, "you will soon see!"
And then with a sort of swaggering air like that of a fencing-master or tippler, searching for some droll expressions, cowardly avenging himself by jests ejected like so many streams of tobacco, against this woman who had just insulted him, who spoke of blackmail and the police, and of thrusting the miserable fellow out of doors, he told everything that he knew; Marianne's neediness, her weariness, her loves, the Dujarrier connection, the renting of the Hôtel Vanda, the Vaudrey paper and its renewals, his own foolishness as a too artless and tender, good sort of fellow, relying on Claire Dujarrier's word, and not reserving to himself so much per cent in the affair!
Rosas listened open-mouthed, his ears tingling and his blood rushing to his temples, while he sunk his fingers into Marianne's arms, she, meanwhile, glaring at Gochard.
When he had finished, she disengaged herself from Rosas's clutch by an extreme effort, and ran to the rascal and spat in his face.
He lifted his hand to her and said:
"Ah! but!—"
"Begone!" said the duke. "You wish to be paid?"