Pierre held his eyes down, and even the marquis paused—he did not look up.
"Pierre, have you no mercy?" exclaimed the nobleman, in a trembling voice.
"Speak further, my lord," said Pierre; "I am listening."
The marquis felt like stamping with his foot. He saw, however, that he had to control himself.
"If you let me implore hopelessly to-day, Pierre," he whispered, gritting his teeth, "the name of Fougereuse will be eternally dishonored."
"The name of Fougereuse?" asked Pierre, with faint malice; "thank God, my lord, that it is not in your power to stain it; you are only the Vicomte de Talizac."
The marquis stamped his foot angrily when he heard the old man's cutting words; it almost surpassed his strength to continue the conversation to an end, and yet it must be if he wished to gain his point.
"I see, I must explain myself more clearly," he said after a pause. "Pierre, I am standing on the brink of a precipice. My fortune and my influence are gone; neither my wife nor my son imagines how I am situated, but if help does not come soon—"
"Well, what will happen?" asked Pierre, indifferently.