"Then I will not be able to keep my coat of arms, which dates from the Crusades, clean and spotless."
"I do not understand you, vicomte. Is it only a question of your fortune?"
"No, Pierre, it is a question of the honor of the Fougereuse. Oh, God! You do not desire to understand me; you want me to disclose my shame. Listen then," continued the marquis, placing his lips to the old man's ears: "to rescue myself from going under, I committed an act of despair, and if assistance does not come to me, the name of the Fougereuse will be exposed to the world, with the brand of the forger upon it."
The old man's face showed no traces of surprise. He kept silent for a moment, and then asked in cold tones:
"Monsieur le Vicomte, what do you wish of me?"
"I will tell you," said the marquis, hastily, while a gleam of hope strayed over his pale face; "I know that my father, to have the major part of his fortune go to his eldest son, made a will and gave it to you—"
"Go on," said Pierre, as the marquis paused.
"The will contains many clauses," continued the nobleman. "My father hid a portion of his wealth, and in his last will named the spot where it lies buried, providing that it should be given to his eldest son or his descendants! Pierre, Jules is dead, his children have disappeared, and therefore nothing hinders you from giving up this wealth. It must be at least two millions. Can you hesitate to give me the money which will save the name of Fougereuse from shame and exposure?"
The marquis hesitated; Pierre rose slowly and, turning to a side wall, grasped the mourning cloth and shoved it aside.
The nobleman wonderingly observed the old man, who now took a lamp and solemnly said: